I'll Keep Coming
by JudgeKnox
Summary: Time travel, AU. When all that Harry Potter ever loved is taken from him, when he cannot fight alone against the tide of Voldemort's evil, he has to take his one last chance. A lonely, damaged Harry returns to his past, in order to save his future. Rated M for violence, death and trauma. Will eventually include Harry/Ginny.
1. Dwelling on Dreams, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Welcome all, to my first foray into the wide world of Harry Potter Fanfiction! I hope you enjoy this first chapter, and please feel free to follow, favourite or post a review, I welcome any response from readers!**

 **Now, just a few notes to get through before you begin:**

 **Firstly, I write with British English, so please excuse the different suffixes and extra u's here or there! Also, I prefer to use capital letters for some magical terminology (Quidditch, Sneakoscope, etc.), along similar lines to the actual HP books.**

 **Second - and foremost! - this fic is rated M for a reason, and will feature such things as violence, death, and emotional trauma moving forward. I understand content warnings, but I will not place them at the start of each chapter. The content warnings are here once, and once only. Please read with this in consideration for your appropriate circumstances, and enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

 ** _"Tamper with the deepest mysteries ― the source of life, the essence of self ― only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind."_**

 **Adalbert Waffling's first** _ **Fundamental Law of Magic.**_

* * *

The roiling grey clouds above churned like a maelstrom, the driving rain tossed about by the gale-force winds. The dark forest that spread into the distance crackled and heaved against the onslaught, shifting and moving as if it were a turbulent sea.

On the sodden hillside, there stood a man.

He stood quite still, unaffected even, his coat flapping uncontrollably and doing little to stop the downpour. Droplets ran in an endless steam down his face, falling off of the frames of his round glasses only to be whisked away by the storm's howling gusts.

To the layman, it seemed that his left hand tightly gripped a simple stick of wood, but to those of the magical world – witches, wizards and all sorts of magical creatures – they knew it to be a magic wand, the essential tool for any witch or wizard, capable of both wondrous creation and appalling destruction alike.

Where his left arm hung at his side, his hand clenched around the wand as if it would disappear should he not hold it tight enough, his right sleeve flapped uselessly in the wind, the jacket appearing oddly lopsided without a second arm to fill it.

A sudden flash of lightning shot across the sky above, plunging the hillside into a blinding spotlight and, for a moment, throwing the man's face into sudden, awful relief.

Whilst it could have been considered handsome long ago, the man's features were marred by a multitude of scars and burns. His mouth was disfigured by a single jagged scar that ran up the left side of his cheek. Angry burn marks crisscrossed upwards from his neck and onto his jaw, the skin malformed and leathery. His eyes, once a bright green, seemed almost dulled behind his glasses as they stared out, unfocused and withdrawn. Numerous scratches and cuts were dotted all over his face, some were old and faded, others were scabbed over and a few were still open, lazily dripping blood that swiftly mixed with the streams of rain, and ran down into his clothes.

Above his brow sat one last scar – it seemed small, particularly when compared to the rest, but it was perhaps the deepest and most damaging of them all. A single, thin scar, stretched into the symbol of a lightning bolt.

* * *

Harry Potter stood still on the hillside, gazing out over the Forbidden Forest and onwards to the horizon. Behind him stood the darkened ruins of what was once Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Gone were its illustrious towers, innumerable classrooms, hallways and secret passages. Gone was the large Quidditch pitch on the grounds and greenhouses that gleamed in sunlight. Gone were the ghosts, the portraits and even the suits of armour that clanked, wheezed and sometimes told jokes to passing students.

Hogwarts was dead. There was nothing left except for ruined archways, piles of rubble and broken timber. Only a few of the dungeon floors remained standing, buried deep into the bedrock. The grounds were a blasted wasteland, the grass of the once-neat lawns growing wildly, tall and filled with weeds and thorns. Even the old gamekeeper's hut was destroyed, leaving behind only its burned wooden skeleton.

Harry simply stood, and before he knew it, those thoughts that whispered to him in his endless nightmares began to creep forth from where he'd held them. Before he could stop himself, he was considering all that happened, and all that was left, the events of his life and future laid bare before his eyes.

 _What do I do?_

The one question that Harry could never answer for himself when he needed to.

 _How did it all go so wrong?_

* * *

After Voldemort regained physical form in Harry's fourth year, things had rapidly turned from bad to worse. Whereas in the last war Voldemort had been dangerous, but somewhat careless and too quick to anger, he returned to the land of the living with a renewed sense of purpose, coupled with a well of patience and deliberation.

The Ministry of Magic's refusal to acknowledge Voldemort's return aided his efforts immeasurably, and he began moving with precision against both the Ministry and Albus Dumbledore's Order of the Phoenix. Death Eaters used intermediaries and mercenaries from abroad to spread fear and disorder in both the muggle and magical worlds. Influential members such as Lucius Malfoy used their connections to thoroughly infiltrate agents into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Auror Office and other senior ministerial departments. Voldemort operated firmly in the shadows and with great care, establishing networks and meetings with the magical beasts that made his nominal allies, as well as drawing in powerful support from magicals on the continent. At the same time, Dumbledore was hamstrung by the Ministry at every move he made, and the Order of the Phoenix could not hope to grow at the same rate as Voldemort's ranks.

It was only in Harry's fifth year that Voldemort personally infiltrated the Ministry at Christmas and retrieved the full contents of the Prophecy – killing Arthur Weasley, who was on guard that night. Careful to act on his new information, Voldemort poured his resources into investigating the ' _Power the Dark Lord knows not_ ' and how he could have 'marked' Harry as his equal. Before, the war had sat somewhat uneasily in the background of Harry's mind, his preoccupation with schoolwork and day-to-day goings on keeping him focused on the present. That all changed after the death of kind, bumbling Mr. Weasley. After Cedric, he was the first true casualty of the Second Wizarding War, and his loss was one of the most profound.

Immediately, Harry's life had been turned upside-down. Ron, on whose friendship and support Harry had thrived, became deeply withdrawn and threw himself into training – both magical and physical – in a drive to avenge his father. Fred and George, the habitual jokers, stopped laughing and pranking the other students, their plans for a joke shop forgotten. Ginny became volatile and unbalanced, passionate and strong in one instance and then frail and despondent the next. Even poor Molly, who had acted the role of a parent for Harry since his first year, became lost and distraught at her husband's death. Harry could only watch as yet another family was torn apart by Voldemort. _His_ family.

The war was now on his doorstep, in the very halls of Hogwarts itself. Harry often wondered after the events of that Christmas how he could ever have been concerned with trivial things like not getting a 'T' on his potions assignments or if he could get Cho Chang to go on a date. When his friend's dad was murdered in cold blood, Harry had done nothing to stop it. If he hadn't fallen into the trap during the Triwizard Tournament, none of these awful things would have happened. The thought ate at him until one evening he found himself in Professor Dumbledore's office, sobbing and broken under the weight of his mistakes.

* * *

 _Harry cried into his hands, his shoulders heaving as he wept. Across the ornate desk, Albus Dumbledore watched, his own eyes brimming with tears behind his half-moon spectacles._

 _"…it's all my fault!" Harry choked through his sobs, "if I had been faster, if I'd not let Wormtail escape two years ago, Cedric would still be alive! Mr. Weasley would still be alive! If I'd been ready, I'd-"_

 _"No, Harry!" Dumbledore cried, the desperation in his tone startling him. "Oh, my dear boy, you mustn't blame yourself! Your love for your friends and family is your most powerful strength. Do not let your love for them be buried in guilt!_

 _"Please, listen to me carefully Harry. The pain of our perspective is to think of what_ _ **could have been**_ _. We have seen true evil with our own eyes and have both faced it down. We have both felt the pain and destruction it can bring to our lives and those around us, but for the sake of the future we_ _ **must**_ _continue on._

 _"I know his death pains you greatly, Harry, but Arthur Weasley was not killed_ _ **because of you**_ _. He was killed because Voldemort wanted to – not to hurt you, but simply because he stood between him and the Prophecy. You know now of the weight fate has placed on you, and believe me, I understand that you want no one else to be hurt by this conflict, and I sorely wish that you would have been spared… all of this. But you must_ _ **not**_ _treat their lives as your responsibility!_

 _"Do you remember in your first year, you encountered the Mirror of Erised?" Dumbledore asked quietly._

 _Harry sat up a little, sniffling as he replied. "Yes sir, but what does that have to do with-"_

 _Dumbledore held up his hand. "Please, allow me to explain. You saw in the mirror, as any who look upon it, your heart's desire made manifest. You drank it in, feeling it fill a void in your heart you never knew could grow so large. But each time you left, you came back, hungry to see your family once more._

 _"Right now you probably want nothing more than a second chance, an opportunity to change what happened to poor Arthur, to Cedric, to your parents or to anyone else whose lives Voldemort has destroyed. But if you remember what I said to you all those years ago, you know that you cannot punish yourself with these thoughts. It does not do to dwell on dreams, Harry, and forget to live."_

 _Harry paused, considering the Headmaster's words. Dumbledore took this as an opportunity to continue._

 _"War and violence end lives, Harry, on a scale that it is awful to comprehend. The burden of being a leader is knowing that people you know will die in your strategies. People with families, friends and a future are taken away without fairness or mercy. But these same people will stand by a cause because they_ _ **believe**_ _in it,_ _ **not**_ _because you ordered them to be there. As long as I lead the Order of the Phoenix, their actions are not your burden to bear, Harry, and although their loss is a wrong that may not ever be right again, you honour their memory and their sacrifice by continuing their fight."_

 _Harry didn't notice when he had stopped crying, or when Dumbledore had started. Streams of tears ran gently down the old man's face, fading into his long beard as he suddenly smiled gently at the teenager in front of him, his blue eyes boring into Harry's green ones. When he spoke, his voice regained some strength, conviction and kindness feeding into his words in equal measure._

 _"Remember, my boy, you are a good person. You will always have that which Voldemort does not. Love. You can do yourself no better turn than to live, laugh and love in the face of his evil. For when there is no love left in this world, evil will have won, regardless of the face it wears."_

 _Dumbledore looked away for a moment, collecting himself. "Now, I'm afraid I will have to bid you goodnight for tonight, Harry. Do be careful on your way back to Gryffindor Tower, and please know that you can call on me anytime, to talk about anything at all that's on your mind. Your welfare is very important to me, Harry, and I will not fail you."_

* * *

Harry remembered how he had felt after that meeting, about how Dumbledore's words did little to fix the hole left by Arthur's death. But at the same time, Harry's perspective began to change, and with more than a few conversations with Hermione Granger and his godfather Sirius Black, he started feeling just a little bit better at each passing day. He and Hermione – the latter ever eager to learn new magic – joined Ron in studying and training, who was actually very grateful for the company, and hadn't realised how much he'd missed his two friends. Slowly, the three moved forward, Harry and Ron's friendship running deeper than ever, even though neither was the same as before.

The memory of his best friends' faces, laughing in front of the fire in the Gryffindor Common Room at some joke he'd long since forgotten, pulled him out of his reminiscing.

 _Not now_ , he thought, closing himself off from the memories and returning to the present. Suddenly realising how cold and wet he was, he cast a quick **_Impervius_** Charm to stop the rain soaking him further, and then a few simple warming and drying charms to sort out his current state. Turning away from the forest, he began to walk up the hill towards the remains of the castle, and more specifically, to his makeshift home in one of the dungeons.

His right shoulder twinged with pain, as it often did when it was cold, as Harry trudged through the ruined stonework of the castle to a small, well-hidden staircase that led to his part of the dungeons. Descending the stairs, torch sconces flared to life in the subterranean corridor ahead, as if they sensed the presence of the castle's lone resident.

At the end of the corridor there sat a solitary door. Harry waved his wand and the door opened slowly, the hinges creaking, the door swinging wide to reveal a collection of rooms. The rooms, which had once been one of Hogwarts' potions classrooms and its store cupboards, had since been roughly converted by Harry into a small living space. Where there had once been a teacher's desk there instead sat a single, worn couch with a ratty sleeping bag draped across it. The centre of the room was mostly clear of classroom furniture, all except for a single desk on which sat Harry's meagre potion-making kit. The rear wall, whose shelves had housed glass specimen jars and boxes of ingredients now sat generally bare, save for a small number of books and potion vials.

Sitting down wearily on the sofa, Harry glanced at small table in front of him, on which were a few trinkets – the last remnants of his possessions. A damaged Sneakoscope lay on the table next to Harry's two-way mirror, silent and unmoving. A frayed Gryffindor Quidditch scarf, the red and gold long since faded into brown and pale yellow, sat in a small bundle. In the centre of the table, there sat one other item. A simple, unmarked book. Harry's prized possession, his photo album. With reverence he gently picked it up, and opened the worn cover to gaze at its contents again.

Given to him at the end of his first year by Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper of Hogwarts, it had originally held a number of photographs of Harry's parents, James and Lily Potter. Others, like Sirius and the rest of the Marauders also appeared, but Harry's parents were always the centrepiece. Now, though, it held far more. The empty pages that were left for Harry to fill with new photographs were practically overflowing with them, the moving pictures made into small collages and overlapping one another. On each one, by themselves or in groups, there featured the same people: Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Fred & George, Arthur and Molly, Sirius, Remus, Hagrid and even Dumbledore smiled up at Harry with kindness and laughter on their faces. He gazed fondly down at them, once again feeling the tug of longing left by their absence.

 _They are all gone, and I'm still here. I have to carry on. Their lives were for nothing if I can't finish this._

Harry carefully closed the book, making sure not to fold the corners of the pages or leave any loose photos poking out, and laid it back down onto the table. Twisting and falling back along the couch, Harry drifted into a troubled sleep.


	2. Dwelling on Dreams, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **So, here's the second chapter, I hope you all enjoy it! I'd like to express my sincere gratitude for all the support I've been getting, in follows, favourites and even some really nice reviews - so thank you, all of you!**

 **I'll be going away for a few days, so the next update may not be for a little while, but I'll be back to work by the weekend or so. In the meantime, please enjoy, and feel free to give your feedback!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Waking with a start, Harry brought his wand up and aimed around the room in a panic, expecting Death Eaters to be breaking down the door any moment. His eyes darted from corner to corner, his heart hammering in his chest.

 _No one. Just a bad dream._

Even as he considered his poor night's rest, the details of his dreams began to fade, like the embers of a fire, caught in the wind and carried away into nothingness. Slowly lowering his wand, he straightened up, feeling his neck and spine crack from stiffness. Now standing, he leant over the table and examined his face in the small mirror.

His teenage years long since behind him, Harry saw his own twenty-nine-year-old face looking back at him. The parts of his jaw that weren't damaged by burns were covered in dark stubble, and his messy hair only barely covered the deep creases in his forehead. Nodding to himself, he drew his wand in several wide arcs across his face, repeatedly murmuring the wound-healing incantation, **_Vulnera Sanentur_**. Before his eyes the small cuts and wounds he arrived with last night began to knit and heal over, leaving only a few faint marks on the newly-formed skin.

Without access to a proper shower, Harry decided to go and wash in the Black Lake. Emerging from his dungeon into the ruins, he was caught in the faint morning sunlight that shone over the Scottish countryside. The storm had blown itself out last night, leaving only rolling mist that clung to the ground like a shroud. The chill of the morning air was refreshing, and Harry wandered in the direction of the lake. Despite all the damage done to Hogwarts and its grounds, the Black Lake was left almost untouched by the devastation, its dark waters rippling gently in the morning breeze as it always had.

Taking some time to strip out of his clothes – save a for a small Mokeskin pouch that he wore around his neck – Harry cast a short warming charm on himself before wading out, and diving into the water.

For a moment, he was submerged in deep blackness, the lazy swishing motions of the underwater flora barely visible in the inky depths. Where in yesterday's storm, Harry could hear the forest cracking and the wind howling, under the surface of the lake everything fell to a blissful blanket of silence. Letting his breath carry him back up, Harry broke the surface of the water, sucking in a lungful of air before slowly making his way back to the shore.

After climbing out of the lake, dressing and drying – and casting a quick **_Scourgify_** to get rid of the worst of the dirt – Harry walked to the forest edge to start gathering some firewood. Although he could use magic to simply summon all the wood he would need to him, he preferred the exercise, and the walk would help clear his head. After a little while, he had enough wood to start a decent fire for breakfast. Back in the castle ruins, he placed a small circle of stones out on the grass, and set up the wood ready for a fire. Thinking to himself for a moment, he drew his wand and levitated a large rock that lay nearby, bringing it closer to the circle and positioning it so that if he sat down, he could look out over the lake's gentle waters and the hills in the distance.

Ready to start breakfast, Harry only had to get something to cook. With a flick of his wand, Harry summoned his frying pan from the dungeon, the large utensil clattering as it shot up the stairs towards him, before gently slowing down and dropping into his lap.

 _I could do with some proper food today. Maybe…_

Harry considered something for a moment, before speaking clearly into thin air.

"Dobby!"

With a soft _crack_ , Harry's last, faithful friend, Dobby the House-Elf, appeared. Older and wiser than Harry could ever have imagined the hyperactive little creature, Dobby had been with Harry throughout the pain of the last few years. He'd helped dress wounds, send messages, perform reconnaissance and scrounge supplies, and had never failed to answer Harry's summons.

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby squeaked out, fixing Harry with a smile, affection showing clearly in his tennis ball-sized eyes. Continuing his traditions after Harry had freed him from the Malfoy family in his second year at Hogwarts, Dobby wore a wonderfully mismatched selection of clothing: an overly-large beanie sat on his head, draped over his bat-like ears, small leather boots adorned his feet (one black and the other brown, of course) and he wore a patterned toga that appeared to be made from some kind of Persian rug.

"Hello, Dobby," Harry greeted the elf warmly, leaning forward to give Dobby a hug, his one arm gripping the elf's body tightly. "I was wondering if you could get me some things for breakfast, if it's not too much trouble – maybe some bacon or eggs, if you can find them." Harry was always polite to Dobby, even though he didn't doubt that the elf would do nearly anything for him.

"Certainly, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby exclaimed cheerfully. "Dobby will be back in just a moment!" And with another _crack_ , the elf disappeared into thin air.

Sure enough, barely a minute had passed before Dobby reappeared, this time carrying a small knapsack over his shoulder. Setting it down, he unpacked several packs of bacon, some bread, oil, butter, a bundle of eggs and some seasoning. Harry always marvelled at the resourcefulness of the little elf, and happily began preparing his pan to cook breakfast. In the meantime, Dobby clicked his fingers, and the firewood almost immediately began to crackle, embers blinking merrily in the centre of the fire, the small flames dancing upwards. Harry, setting his pan aside for a moment, levitated another rock over for Dobby to sit down on, and after a few protests and outpourings of affection for Harry's qualities as a wizard, the little elf was soon perched happily on his own rock, gently swinging his legs and warming his feet.

Harry enjoyed cooking breakfast, the crackling of the cooking oil and the wonderful smell of bacon lifting his spirits immeasurably. Sharing a plate with Dobby, the two ate in a comfortable silence, staring out over the gently lapping waves of the lake and savouring the spring morning's sunshine. For a few quiet moments, Harry Potter felt hope.

Unfortunately, the moment passed – as they always do – and Harry sighed, standing up over the gentle embers of the fire before putting it out with a jet of water from the **_Aguamenti_** spell. Kicking apart the sodden, burned sticks, he covered any visible trace of his existence on the Scottish hillside. He gave Dobby a small nod, and the elf smiled in return, the _crack_ of his disappearance echoing a little on the quiet hill. Harry headed back to the dungeons in order to plan his next move against Voldemort.

Sitting down on the couch, Harry pulled a small notebook out of the pouch he wore around his neck, and began to thumb through it. The notebook – an unassuming piece of muggle stationery – held all of Harry's information on Voldemort and the Death Eaters. He carried it with him everywhere, as he couldn't afford to put it down where he might lose it or have it taken from him. According to the Prophecy, Harry was the one destined to fight Voldemort, tasked with killing the Dark Lord, or dying in the attempt. Even Harry didn't know to what 'power' the Prophecy referred to, and he suspected that Voldemort didn't either. He'd spent many nights pondering interpretations of the Prophecy's passages, but in the end decided that although knowing all the facts about his destiny would be helpful, it would not be useful until Voldemort was weakened enough to be destroyed.

This brought Harry to his current task: finding the pieces of Voldemort's soul that kept him anchored to life, his Horcruxes. Harry knew that one was gone, as he had destroyed Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets incident during his second year. Dumbledore had managed to destroy another, the ring of Marvolo Gaunt, Voldemort's maternal grandfather, but at a terrible price.

 _If only I had had more time with the Headmaster, I might have been better prepared…_

* * *

Harry had ended his fifth year at Hogwarts with cautious optimism, not in the least because he was to stay with Sirius over the summer instead of his awful relatives, the Dursleys, but also because Voldemort had lain low for a few months, apparently preoccupied with studying the Prophecy. Harry had worked hard with Ron and Hermione since Easter, and the three – often accompanied by Ginny, in her better moods – were swiftly moving ahead of the other fifth-years under an intense extra workload from Professors Flitwick, McGonagall and Dumbledore.

It was only a few weeks into the summer when Harry cautiously answered the door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, to see the Headmaster standing on the doorstep, who greeted him warmly.

* * *

 _"Harry, my boy, I hope you and your godfather are well?" He asked cheerfully as he stepped over the threshold and into the house's central hallway._

 _"Yes sir, although not being able to go out in public is definitely a little claustrophobic for us," Harry replied honestly, holstering his wand back into his jeans. "How are you?"_

 _"I'm quite fine, thank you for asking. I know that this situation is hardly ideal, but with Sirius' status as a fugitive and your own importance to Voldemort, your safety is too important to risk." Dumbledore's tone was serious, and he looked imploringly at Harry, hoping he understood._

 _A moment passed, and Dumbledore resumed walking down the hallway towards the house's central staircase, with Harry in tow._

 _"If you'd be so kind as to accompany me to the drawing room, Harry, I have some things to discuss with you and Sirius."_

 _They quickly scaled the stairs, whilst Harry used his two-way mirror to summon his godfather from his current task of cleaning out the basement. Keeping up with Dumbledore's strides, the two entered the large drawing room, and sat across from each other on the small sofas in the centre of the floor._

 _Barely a minute had passed in silence before Sirius could be heard padding up the stairs, giving Dumbledore a nod and Harry a warm smile as he entered the room, his face returning to its usual look of drawn fatigue a moment later._

 _Sirius had not fared well staying by himself, and although having Harry with him had helped lift his spirits, he often became solitary and depressed, his face wearing the same haunted look it had in Azkaban. He often had terrible nightmares of the wizard prison, and being trapped in a house that he hated only helped compound his feelings of isolation. He put on a brave face for his godson, but the feelings were all still there, buried just under the surface._

 _Taking a seat next to Harry, Sirius looked over to Dumbledore._

 _"Albus, it's good to see you," He remarked._

 _"And you, Sirius. I'm sorry to drop in unannounced like this, but I have been busy and couldn't risk sending a message – the Order's communications are becoming increasingly difficult to manage, and the fewer opportunities we give the Death Eaters to intercept our intelligence, the better." Dumbledore sighed tiredly, his posture drooping for a moment before he sat up straight._

 _"Firstly, I came to give you both an update on what's been going on," Dumbledore said. "The Order has been trying to keep track of the Death Eaters' movements, but they are proving to be more resourceful than we expected. Thankfully, it appears that the only recent attacks have been minor, nearly all of them against muggles, and without any obvious motive except for sport." Dumbledore's face tightened into a slightly sickened expression at that statement._

 _"The Minister continues his efforts to block my manoeuvres and for the most part, has unfortunately kept the Light away from rallying the Ministry against Voldemort. Our efforts to negotiate with magical creatures are ongoing, and although we have a few allies, our objective now is damage control – keeping those forces out of Voldemort's hands, even if they won't aid us themselves._

 _"Regarding Voldemort's personal activities, our intelligence has become even more thin on the ground. My sources inside the Death Eaters have been… unhelpful of late. Voldemort has held no meetings, and it appears that Lucius Malfoy is currently acting as the general commander and chief strategist of Voldemort's forces._

 _"This, in tandem with the overall lack of activity, leads me to believe that Voldemort isn't currently in Britain. If my suspicions are correct, he is most likely abroad somewhere in Eastern Europe. What he is doing out there, however, I cannot say." Dumbledore's tone was light, but his words betrayed his unease to the two sat across from him._

 _"However, there is little that can be done about that for the moment, so, on to business!" He stated, cheerful once more. "I came today to speak to you, Harry, about training you in advanced Transfiguration and Defensive Magic."_

 _Harry perked up at the Headmaster's statement, nodding at the Headmaster's unspoken question._

 _"I knew you wouldn't pass up this chance, my boy." Dumbledore said warmly. "What I propose," he continued, "is that I come here three nights a week for two-hour sessions, in which I'll be teaching you advanced magical theory, and of course, new spells and magical skills."_

 _He turned to Harry's godfather. "Sirius, I was hoping you would be able to call on your field experience to teach Harry about magical battle strategy, deception and stealth." Sirius considered the proposal for a moment, before he nodded his assent. Harry stared at the man next to him, wondering just how little he knew about Sirius' life between his Hogwarts years and Azkaban._

 _"Very good, now – we'll need a place to practice, I was thinking that if the basement can be cleared it should make an ideal location for a training area." Dumbledore stated, having clearly already decided that the basement of Grimmauld Place be used as such._

 _"To aid that endeavour, I'll be assisting you both in cleaning up for today, and with no small amount of good fortune, we should be ready to go by this evening." Standing up, Dumbledore strode swiftly from the room, the two following in his wake._

 _As they descended the stairs, a thought occurred to Harry. "But sir, what about the Trace?" He asked, panic evident in his tone. "I'm still underage, and the Ministry will know when I cast spells, won't they?"_

 _Dumbledore smiled. "An astute observation, Harry, but one that is – fortunately for us – untrue. The Ministry claim that the Trace detects all underage magic, however they often forget to mention that they cannot track magic use inside a wizarding household. Alas, forgetting to tell the public the facts appears to be an essential characteristic for any aspiring politician." Still chuckling at his own joke, Dumbledore continued down the staircase towards the basement._

* * *

Several intense weeks passed at Grimmauld Place, weeks during which Harry could swear he'd never worked harder. He would be found reading in the library or in his room late into the night, studying a seemingly endless pile of magical tomes and spellbooks. Where in school he would be expected to write essays on rolls of parchment, in Dumbledore's training sessions he had to discuss each topic with the Headmaster, and demonstrate his understanding. Whilst the lack of monotonous writing was certainly better for his hand muscles and his attention span, he had to study harder than he would ever have thought possible, and he slowly began to understand not just how to make wand movements or say incantations, but how magic _worked_.

His sessions with Sirius were more informal, and Harry doubted that the older man would be able to adopt the role of a stern teacher even if he tried. They would spend days poring over historical records of war, both magical and muggle, and discuss battle strategies and what changes Harry would make to any given scenario to secure a victory. At the same time, Sirius pulled out his old Marauder tricks and taught Harry about magical stealth, showing him all sorts of spells to both prevent his own detection, and to monitor his environment for hidden intruders. They had a few particularly memorable days where Sirius would sneak about Grimmauld Place under Harry's Invisibility Cloak or Disillusionment Charms, jumping out – and firing hexes – at random intervals, or he would steal Harry's possessions, forcing the teenager to search the house for his mischievous godfather. Before long, Harry had mastered general detection spells such as **_Homenum Revelio_** , and was aware enough of his surroundings that even Mad-Eye Moody would have been impressed.

Harry continued to keep up with his exercise routines, and as the weeks passed his frame filled out, losing the scrawniness that had characterised his appearance since he was a child. All of his physical work helped with the most daunting task of his training: Duelling.

Every few sessions or so, Professor Dumbledore would take Harry and Sirius down to the basement, where a large white circle was painted onto the flagstones. Taking sides opposite one another, two of the three would duel whilst the third acted as a referee and medic. Duelling with Sirius was a challenge, as the man had far more experience over Harry in terms of wizarding combat, and was often inventive with his use of curses and hexes. Harry, however – being young and in better health than Sirius – was far more mobile, and as a result could throw spells whilst staying on the move, his seeker's skills ensuring he stayed accurate.

Duelling with Professor Dumbledore, however, was another matter entirely.

If Sirius was inventive with his selection of spells, Dumbledore could have written the book. Every move he made was precise and direct, economising on time and maintaining his balance. He would send overpowered curses and hexes at Harry in a near-continuous stream, sometimes from multiple directions at the same time. His wand was a blur in his hand as he twirled it this way and that, sending spells, conjuring objects or distractions, and transfiguring the room to his advantage. When Harry wasn't blinded by one of Dumbledore's numerous conjured smokescreens, he would just manage to get a quick **_Stupefy_** off before having to dive away from the multitude of spells Dumbledore would send his way, only to have the stunner he fired be blocked by the flagstones of the floor as it morphed and shaped into a wall of stone between them. Throughout their bouts, the very air would crackle with the humming energy of magic, spells becoming volatile as the atmosphere was charged with magical backlash.

Despite Dumbledore remaining apparently unchallenged by Harry's current skills, Harry was quickly improving. By July he could competently transfigure the environment, capable of turning the floor to thick, gloopy mud or quicksand, or to bend walls and furniture into the path of spells before banishing them at his opponent. He had expanded his spell repertoire to include a large number of advanced curses and protective magic. However, he preferred to utilise simple spells in combat, like **_Mimblewimble_** (the Tongue-Tying Curse) which prevented his opponents from verbally casting, stopping wizards from easily overpowering their spells. Although complicated spells and curses could defeat opponents if they made contact, simple spells required less power and were usually quicker to cast. Why waste time with a **_Levicorpus_** if you could simply cast **_Wingardium Leviosa_** on your opponent's clothing or shoes, throwing them into the air? Harry built his techniques around simplicity and functional skill, giving him the edge against fighters that couldn't think 'outside the box'.


	3. Dwelling on Dreams, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone!**

 **As I've finished chapter four ahead of schedule (I write the chapter after the one I want to release before I release anything, to keep a coherent narrative), I present to you all, chapter three of I'll Keep Coming!**

 **I'd just like to say that I'm overwhelmed by all the support you've been giving me, it's been really great so far.**

 **Remember, feel free to follow, favourite or drop a review, I'll welcome any response from readers. Enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

By August of that year, Ron, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had joined Harry and Sirius at Grimmauld Place, and Molly, although more drawn and sad than Harry had ever seen her, was glad for the company, and seemed more like her old self when she was cajoling Harry into eating second and third helpings of dinner. Harry continued practicing magic with his two friends, but these fell short of his sessions with Dumbledore and Sirius – the Headmaster had made him promise not to try advanced magic without him there to supervise.

At Harry's request, Dumbledore also contacted the Grangers, and brought a very excited Hermione with him to Grimmauld Place later that month. Overjoyed to see her friends again and eager to learn from the Headmaster, Hermione threw herself into studying as if it were already exam season, seeming particularly driven after learning about the Trace ( _"Really? But that's_ _ **so**_ _unfair!"_ ).

It was around this time that Harry began to realise something: that Ginny was fast becoming as close a friend to him as Hermione or Ron was, and that in some ways she and Harry shared something the other two did not. They'd both fought Voldemort directly, and this common trial seemed to strike a chord between them. And so, one late night at the end of the summer, Harry was reading alone in the drawing room when he heard someone knock on the open door. Expecting to see Sirius or Hermione, he was surprised to see Ginny standing in the doorway instead, dressed in her nightclothes and looking distracted about something.

* * *

 _"Ginny?" Harry looked at her, his surprise still evident on his face. "You okay?" He asked._

 _Ginny seemed to snap out it for a moment before looking down at Harry on the settee. "I'm okay, Harry, I… wait, no, that's a lie. Can I come in?" She asked hesitantly, trying not to meet Harry's eyes._

 _Seeing that something was wrong, Harry quickly closed his book and sat up straight, gesturing to the sofa across from his. "Of course you can, come on in – you can close the door if you like." Ginny did so, padding softly over and slumping down into the cushions, staring at her hands._

 _Harry waited for a minute for Ginny to start talking, and when it seemed like she might not, he spoke instead._

 _"So, what's on your mind-"_

 _"-I need to talk to you about Tom."_

 _Having both talked over each other at the same time, they each stopped to allow the other to speak, an awkward silence forming between the two. Harry motioned for Ginny to continue, and drawing in a breath, she repeated herself, still not meeting Harry's eyes._

 _"I said, I need to talk to you about T-Tom." She said, her voice faltering for a moment as she said Voldemort's muggle name. Harry sat silently, wondering why Ginny wanted to talk about Voldemort._

 _"Ever since what happened with the Chamber of Secrets, I've felt… wrong." Ginny said quietly, as if she was hoping Harry couldn't hear her. "I didn't realise it at first, and I thought after all these years I would have just moved on, but after Dad…" she trailed off at the mention of Mr. Weasley, "I've never thought about what Tom might have left behind, in here." She gestured towards her heart._

 _"What do you mean, left behind?" Harry asked, a little confused about what she was getting at._

 _"I mean, I was possessed by Voldemort, Harry!" Ginny's tone rose with desperation as her head shot up. Before she knew it, words began pouring out of her mouth. "What if… what if something's broken inside of me? What if there's some part left of him?" Her eyes clenched shut in anguish. "I have nightmares, Harry. Awful nightmares where he comes back, and locks me away inside my own head, and does terrible things to Mum, Ron… even you." She became quiet again at the mention of Harry, and returned to looking at the floor._

 _"…I'm scared, Harry," she said in a near-whisper. "Ever since what happened to Dad I've been so sad and unstable. I've been thinking bad things… angry things. I don't want to become him, Harry." She took a deep breath, attempting to calm herself before continuing, "You're the only other one here who's fought him properly. You've stopped Voldemort before, and you fought against the diary as well. I just… I need you to tell me I'm not crazy." The last part was mumbled in a tone of shame and weakness._

 _Harry reached out over the small table, and gently grasped her hands in his, squeezing the palms reassuringly. "Ginny, look at me," he implored. "Voldemort is evil, and powerful, yes, but you're stronger than he ever will be. You're a good person," Harry said, echoing the Headmaster's own words to him, "and the only evil you've got in you is a mean Bat-Bogey Hex." Ginny sniffled, chuckling weakly at Harry's poor attempt at humour._

 _"What defines us are our choices, Gin, not what we think we are on the inside." Harry said with more seriousness in his tone. Ginny paused, surprised to hear Harry's new use of her name, and feeling a strange flutter in her chest for a moment. "If you don't want him to, Tom – with all his hatred and fear – cannot destroy you. You're better than he ever can be, and you don't have to let him change who you are, or who you want to be." Harry gazed intently into her eyes, relieved to see some strength return to them. "I've fought Voldemort, and as I said to Tom back in the Chamber, he's a wreck of a man. I can't imagine how you felt, coping with that diary, but I know that Voldemort on his best day doesn't stand a chance against you."_

 _Ginny gazed into Harry's eyes, the corners of her mouth quirked ever so slightly into a tentative smile. Harry smiled back warmly, his expression kind._

 _Ginny looked away and took a few deep breaths, before once more looking into Harry's eyes, her smile wider and stronger now. "I… thank you, Harry." She said softly. "I didn't know how much I needed to hear that."_

 _Harry grinned a little as he slowly released his grip on her hands. "Well, I do have_ _ **occasional**_ _moments of brilliance," he quipped, his eyes crinkling slightly with humour. "I'm glad I could help, and if you ever want to speak to me, Gin, you only need to ask."_

 _Ginny's smile widened further. "I might just take you up on that. Goodnight, Harry." She stood up, reaching out and squeezing Harry's hand gently before walking through the door and back to bed._

* * *

Harry's eyes snapped open, his scar prickling uncomfortably. He swore he could feel something gently squeezing his hand. He looked down, only to realise something.

He'd felt the sensation in his _right_ hand. Sighing, he closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the cushions for a minute or two. Ever since he'd been wounded, Harry would sometimes wake up and panic when he couldn't feel his arm, only to remember that it was gone.

 _Gone, like nearly everything else._

 _Shit_ , Harry thought, _when did I drop off? How long have I been out?_

Standing up, he walked out of his rooms, and up to the surface. Emerging to the cold highland air, he saw that the sun was already moving lazily towards the horizon. Muttering a few choice swear words under his breath, Harry returned to his dungeon, summoning a bright ball of light with a flick of his wand, which sat in the centre of the ceiling and doused the room in a cold, white glow. He couldn't afford to fall asleep again. Picking his notebook up from where it had fallen and putting it on the couch, he grabbed some parchment from a nearby shelf and unrolled it over the table, laying it out flat. Pointing his wand at it, he muttered " ** _Parius Tabula Britannia!_** "

A jet of blue light shot from the wand into the parchment, and before Harry's eyes, ink began to blossom on the page, weaving and clouding like blood in water. Droplets ran this way and that, zooming along the page in seemingly random directions. After about thirty seconds, however, the outline of a country began to take shape. After a minute, the last of the details were quickly forming, leaving Harry with a fresh map of the British Isles. Already noted on the map were unprotected magical locations, such as the site of Hogwarts, Hogsmeade Village, Diagon Alley and the Ministry of Magic. The spell was a favourite of Harry's in creating resources for strategic planning, but it had its limitations – individual or well-warded wizarding properties never appeared on any created map, unless the spell was performed inside the boundaries of the property in question. Nevertheless, a map of the country would be useful in organising Harry's intelligence on Voldemort.

His activities the previous night had borne unexpected fruit. Spending the better part of three weeks staying at a disreputable pub in Knockturn Alley called _The Hydra's Den_ – on a tip that came through a Goblin Harry had occasionally used as an informant – initially looked to be a dead-end, but last night he'd been nursing an overly-full tumbler of Firewhisky in a secluded booth when he overheard a _very_ interesting conversation.

* * *

 _Harry sat in the darkened corner, the already dismal lighting of the pub doing little to reveal his heavily-transfigured features, gently sipping his Firewhisky. It was already quite late in the evening, and the pub's patrons were beginning to thin out for the night. Sighing quietly to himself, Harry stared at a particularly dark stain on the wood of the table, trying desperately not to give up and return to the fairly inviting comforts of his room on the top floor. Just as he thought he might turn in for the night, the front door of the pub opened noisily before two black-clad strangers walked in. Going to the bar and ordering some spirit Harry didn't recognise, the two moved through the room and sat in the booth next to Harry, their whispered conversation just slightly too quiet for him to make out._

 _Deciding that he might learn something useful tonight after all, Harry waved his wand under the table, casting a quick Supersensory Charm on himself. The effect was immediate, and Harry felt the strange sensation of nearly having eyes in the back of his head, the previously quiet pub suddenly sounding like a crowded room full of loudly talking people. Tilting his head slightly, Harry began to listen to the conversation taking place next to him, trying to ignore the relative crashing sound the bartender made when he clinked some glasses together._

 _"...no bloody way Malfoy would give you have something of his, no matter how many 'favours' you think you might have done for him!" The first man hissed in anger at his friend._

 _"I dunno about that, Cassius," the second man sneered back. "There was that incident a few months back with those Parkinson girls-"_

 _The first man cut across him, sounding both exasperated and furious at the same time, as if they'd had this conversation before. "The only reason you work as the Ponce's fixer at all is because your family has been in their debt for generations!"_

 _"I've never gotten anything in return though, have I?" The second whined indignantly. "It's always just 'drop everything and come to the manor', and after sorting everything out all nice-like, he just sneers at me and sends me on my merry fucking way!"_

 _"Why do you even want that stupid locket anyway?" The first asked, his tone dripping with derision._

 _Harry's heart nearly skipped a beat._

 _"I dunno, I just like the way it looks, okay? All that green and gold… the wife would love it." The second replied defensively._

 _Harry had a sudden, insane impulse to jump to his feet and start doing a jig, and ruthlessly repressed it. As the two men's conversation shifted to inanities and eventually died altogether, Harry realised he needed to cover his tracks. If the locket they talked about really was what he thought it was, then he had to make sure there was no trace of how he found out. Quickly drinking the rest of his Firewhisky and feeling it burn on its way down, Harry sat in the dark, and waited._

 _Before long, the two men had finished their drinks and got up, ready to leave. Casting a quick Disillusionment Charm on himself, and feeling the all-to-familiar sensation of an egg being broken over his head, Harry quietly got up from his seat and followed them out into Knockturn Alley. With an uncanny stroke of luck, the two only walked for a few minutes before they ducked into a deserted side street. Acting quickly, Harry blasted the both of them with a_ _ **Stupefy**_ _each._

 _One crumpled to the floor as soon as the jet of red light hit him, but his friend was quicker on the draw. Throwing himself to the side, he waved his wand in a panic in Harry's direction, and the window next to Harry's face exploded outwards, glass shards lacerating his skin. Grunting in pain, Harry banished the man into the alley wall, knocking him out cold. Rolling them over so he could check their faces, he didn't recognise them as anyone important in Voldemort's ranks, and so could erase their memories of the last few hours with little risk of it being discovered. Levelling his wand at the one on his left, he whispered "_ _ **Obliviate.**_ _"_

 _Repeating the process with the other man, he swiftly laid them up against a nearby wall, and conjured a few glasses of alcohol, before pouring them over the two. When they woke up with a pounding headache (from the stunner and wall-banishing accordingly), they'd simply assume they'd gotten blind drunk that night, and passed out at some point. Nervous about them being discovered too soon – and their 'drunken unconsciousness' being recognised as the effects of a stunning spell – Harry cast a Notice-Me-Not Charm on the two that would wear off in a few hours. With a quick_ _ **Reparo**_ _for the window, Harry was on his way._

 _Returning to the pub, Harry went up to his room and quickly wrote everything down in his notebook. After collecting his things and paying his tab with the bartender, he walked back to Diagon Alley and Disapparated for Hogwarts, appearing on a sodden hillside in the middle of a storm._


	4. Waking Nightmares, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone! I humbly present to you, chapter four!**

 **Once again, thanks to all my readers for the support, the wonderful reviews and the number of you that have followed and favourited this story. It's wonderful to know that people like my work!**

 **Chapter five is going as planned, apart from the fact I am now breaking it into two - it's already close to 4,000 words and I'm barely halfway done with it, so it seemed like the sensible thing to do. Once the now-named chapter six is done, chapter five will go up.**

 **In the meantime, please enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry had work to do. The map of Magical Britain was pinned to the dungeon wall with a moderately-powerful Sticking Charm, the County of Wiltshire highlighted in red. Malfoy Manor was somewhere in Wiltshire – Harry knew that much – but he had no idea where exactly the estate was located.

 _Most likely Unplottable, and probably warded to the hilt. Damn it. Well, if this was going to be easy, I'd have done it already._

The last people Harry knew who made it to Malfoy Manor were the Weasley twins nearly eight years ago, and they didn't tell anyone how they'd found it, or how they were getting in. After they left, it was too late – they never came back. The only thing close to a confirmation of death came in the form of Mrs. Weasley's enchanted grandfather clock, as the twins' clock hands stopped working, remaining stuck on 'Lost' and never moving again.

Suddenly, Harry had an idea. Dobby had been Malfoy's elf – maybe he knew how to find the Manor?

"Dobby?" Harry called out, the elf appearing with a _crack_ barely a second later.

"Can Dobby help Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby squeaked.

"Dobby, can you tell me where Malfoy Manor is?" Harry asked without preamble.

The elf screwed his eyes tight in concentration for a moment, before slumping and shaking his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. "Dobby is… sorry, Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby cannot reveal where to find bad master's house." Dobby's ears drooped a little as he replied, already sounding distraught at being unable to help.

"That's alright. I'm trying to find it – I need to break in, you see," Harry explained. "Is there anything you _can_ say about the place? Whatever you're able to tell me will help," he asked tentatively. Dobby's ears lifted again as he gave Harry a small smile.

"Certainly Harry Potter, sir. What does Harry Potter wish to know?" Dobby asked in response.

"I need you to tell me everything you remember about the layout while I draw it out on this parchment." Harry said, already pulling a quill and ink off of a nearby shelf.

"Well, Harry Potter, sir – the grounds are many acres in size…"

It was early in Harry's sixth year that he and Professor Dumbledore had found out about Voldemort's Horcruxes. The Headmaster had had his suspicions, but it wasn't until Harry had convinced Professor Slughorn – cornering the rotund Potions Master after one of his many parties – to give him his memories of Tom Riddle, that Dumbledore had enough information to set his plans for Voldemort's defeat in motion. Unfortunately, when Harry and Dumbledore – accompanied by Sirius – found their first Horcrux that Christmas, Harry realised only too late what he was up against.

* * *

 _If anyone were to notice the three figures walking slowly along the icy country road, they would probably remark that they'd never seen a stranger group before. A dark-haired teenage boy – the most normal-looking of the bunch in his hoodie and jeans, was accompanied by a tall, handsome man in an expensive-looking pinstripe suit, the golden chain of a pocket watch clearly visible on his velvet waistcoat. Alongside these two and without a doubt the most unusual of them all, there strode an imposing old man, dressed in some sort of robes, exquisitely embroidered and coloured a deep, royal blue. The old man's long, silver beard was tucked securely into his belt, and he moved with a grace and fluidity that belied his years._

 _Nevertheless, the road was deserted, and Harry, Sirius and Dumbledore's arrival close to the village of Little Hangleton went unnoticed. Snow fell lazily from above, displaced in its descent by a gentle breeze. Slowly, the three made their way to a small break in the tall hedges that ran the length of the road. Without moving off of the tarmac, they looked upon an incredibly overgrown garden, which sat before a ruined, deserted shack: the hovel of the ancient Gaunt family, and the location of a piece of Voldemort's soul._

 _The house was in even greater disrepair than when Harry had seen it in the memories of the Ministry official Bob Ogden and Marvolo Gaunt's son, Morfin. Where before the house might have been just barely liveable, it was little more than a ruin now. The outer walls were covered in creeping plants that reached almost to the sagging, partially-collapsed roof, the small windows dotted here or there sitting broken and filthy. Nearly everything about the house screamed its dereliction, except for one thing – the front door, which had been covered in splinters and peeling paint in Morfin's memories, was now immaculate, and the rich green paint that now adorned it looked as if it had been applied that very day. In the centre of the door, there was a silver knocker in the shape of a biting snake head, its eyes glittering with small emeralds._

 _"Yes, I think this confirms my suspicions," Dumbledore remarked quietly, his eyes darting across the long, frozen grass in front of the shack, looking for threats._

 _"Well, this_ _ **is**_ _a rather lovely place, don't you think so, Harry?" Sirius stated in a falsely jovial tone. Despite the importance of their mission, it seemed the pleasure of being outside again was still not lost on Sirius, his sarcastic humour a welcome change from his previous moods._

 _"I think, Sirius, that it's somehow more awful than it was the last time I saw it," Harry replied drily. "But that door looks new, and it definitely wasn't like that before. Professor, do you think Voldemort put that there?" He asked Dumbledore, the Headmaster turning and meeting Harry's eyes, before glancing back to the door._

 _"Yes, Harry, I do believe that he did." Dumbledore responded. "As for its purpose, I am quite sure that it is part of the defences Voldemort will have put in place to protect the ring. As such, we should proceed with extreme caution." Turning to fully face the other two, Dumbledore drew his wand from his sleeve, the others mirroring his actions. "You both remember the conditions on which I brought you here?" He asked in an authoritative tone. Harry and Sirius nodded. "Anything that I order you to do, you must do so immediately, and without question. Do you understand?" The two nodded again. "Good. Sirius, your job is to keep Harry safe from whatever we might encounter here."_

 _Seeing Harry start, about to interrupt, Dumbledore held up his hand._

 _"It is not that I don't believe that you are capable, Harry – you've come a long way indeed since we started training back in the summer, but because you are too valuable to lose here. We know that Voldemort has more Horcruxes, and although you will undoubtedly be of assistance today, I'm afraid you will do little good for the Light if you are dead." Dumbledore's frank words brooked no discussion from Harry, the latter's shoulders slumping a little as he nodded his head._

 _"Yes, Professor."_

 _"Very good. As the most skilled here, I'm going to go first, and I will highlight my footprints as I go. Listen carefully, both of you._ _ **Only step where I step**_ _. Although we'll be stuck in single file for the moment, it will guarantee your safety. I have no idea what kind of traps we face, but we can safely assume they will be both devious and lethal. Now then, get behind me." Dumbledore ordered, waving his wand in complicated patterns and muttering incantations, alternately pointing it at the snow-covered ground, the frozen undergrowth and the air around the shack._

 _After a minute or two, Dumbledore lowered his wand slightly, and took a single, bold step onto the property, his snow making a soft_ _ **crunch**_ _beneath his foot. When nothing unexpected happened, Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, and continued to watch Dumbledore patiently. As the Headmaster took a few more careful strides, his footprints glowed with golden light, letting Sirius – who all of a sudden was looking like he'd rather be locked inside back at Grimmauld Place again – follow them perfectly._

 _"Your turn, Harry," Sirius called back, "take it nice and slow, okay? Don't make any sudden moves that might set the defences off." Harry took a deep breath, and carefully stepped out into Dumbledore's footprints, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. Thankfully, nothing happened, and Harry started to follow in Sirius' wake, the older man offering calm encouragement over his shoulder._

 _The tense moments that followed as Dumbledore neared the front door seemed to stretch out far longer than they should, and Harry watched the Headmaster intently, not even realising that he'd stopped moving._

 _Dumbledore stood in front of the door, making sure to stay off of the front step. Raising his wand, he pointed it at the door and began saying incantations, too far away for Harry to hear clearly. Suddenly, the door glowed a bright blue – Harry and Sirius recoiled, twisting on the spot in an attempt to avoid whatever danger Dumbledore had triggered, unable to run or leap aside – and several seconds passed in panicked silence before Dumbledore called out to them._

 _"It's alright, I think my detection spells merely encountered a ward on the door." Dumbledore stated, his voice reassuring. His tone changed to one of mild interest – as if he were consulting the **Daily Prophet** over breakfast – as he continued. "It is… quite fascinating, this protection. I believe, Harry, that you might be of some assistance here." Harry glanced at the door, unsure of what the Headmaster meant._

 _As if Dumbledore could read Harry's thoughts, he elaborated. "The door is protected by several rather nasty wards that are quite unlike anything I have ever seen, except for one, that I recognise from_ _ **one**_ _other place. Can you guess where that might be, Harry?" He asked, making a subtle gesture with his wand to the snake door knocker. Harry looked over Sirius' shoulder at the Headmaster quizzically, before he remembered searching Moaning Myrtle's Bathroom in his second year, finding a snake engraved on a tap at one of the sinks._

 _"Of course! It was the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets, wasn't it, sir?" Harry replied, the discussion helping ease some of the tension in the air._

 _"Indeed." Dumbledore sounded very pleased that Harry had worked it out. "I think Voldemort might have replicated this Parseltongue ward as a master key to the house's protections. The Gaunts were the only known Parselmouths of their time, and perhaps Voldemort, believing himself to be the only surviving Parselmouth after the death of Morfin, sought to recognise the house of Slytherin's descendants with some of the dramatic flair he was known for in later life." Dumbledore paused, once more examining the door over his half-moon spectacles. "In short, Harry, if you can open the Parseltongue ward on the door, I think that the other protections on it should fall away, granting us entry. Once more, Voldemort's blind belief in his own power and uniqueness undermines his strategies." Dumbledore spoke the last part quietly, more to himself than anyone else._

 _Sirius took this moment to speak up. "If you need Harry with you, Albus, how are we going to get him over here without setting off the traps?" He asked, his voice tense._

 _Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling with humour. "Not to worry, Sirius – although I don't doubt Harry's acrobatic abilities, a simple levitation charm shall suffice." Turning fully around to face Harry, he pointed his wand at the teenager, his voice serious once more. "Now, Harry, please don't move. I'll take it from here." With a small flick, Harry's feet lifted off of the snow, and he floated lazily towards Dumbledore. It was an odd sensation, but Harry trusted the Headmaster not to drop him._

 _Sure enough, after a few moments of gentle flight, Harry was held in the air next to Dumbledore, smiling a little at how strange he must look. Harry glanced back at Sirius, shooting him a reassuring grin and a wink when he noticed how tense his godfather looked. Sirius smiled gently back, but his face returned to an expression of mild panic within moments. Turning back to the door, Harry looked down at Dumbledore, his position in the air making him at least a foot taller than the Headmaster._

 _"Er… what should I say?" Harry asked awkwardly._

 _"I think something straightforward should suffice here. Voldemort already assumed that he was the only Parselmouth in Britain, and perhaps the World, and I think it's unlikely that he implemented any kind of password." Dumbledore responded._

 _Harry looked back at the door, and focused on the door knocker, locking eyes on the biting snake's head. Drawing in a breath, he spoke._

 _"Open!" He said, except instead of English, his voice came out in the sharp, tell-tale hiss of Parseltongue. Dumbledore nodded at Harry, and sent him gently hovering back to his original spot behind Sirius, his feet landing on the snow a moment later. Looking back at the Headmaster, Harry could see him once again performing detection spells on the door, before he nodded to himself and strode onto the front step, opening the door and looking into the ruined house._

 _"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore called back, "it appears that all defences on the door have been deactivated. Unfortunately, both outside and inside the house remain protected, so take care, both of you, as you make your way to me." Not waiting for any reply of assent, Dumbledore once more began casting spells into the house, waving his wand in wide, complicated arcs in every direction._

 _Harry followed Sirius to the front step, and seeing that Dumbledore was now fully onto the property, followed both the Headmaster and his godfather inside._

 _If the outside had looked bad compared to Morfin's memories, the inside was, if possible, even worse. Whilst the Gaunt house had always been in a particularly filthy state of disrepair, it was at least recognisable as a living space – if only barely so. Now, with the damage to the roof and windows, the inside of the house was rotted and mouldy, the remaining furniture splintered and ruined. Despite the fresh winter climate outside, the air inside the house was stale and musty, every surface sitting under a thick layer of dust and leaves from outside. Discoloured plant shoots grew up through the damaged floorboards, the house slowly returning to the earth._

 _"Wow," Sirius remarked as he glanced about the inside of the house. "This place is a dump. At least in Azkaban, we had fresh air." Harry smiled at his godfather's bleak humour._

 _"Professor, the weather's getting worse." Harry pointed out after glancing out of a broken window, noticing the now steady snowfall outside. Dumbledore turned and nodded, agreeing with Harry's assessment._

 _"We must hurry, then. If we take too long, we'll lose my footprints." Dumbledore said gravely._

 _Not needing any more encouragement, Harry and Sirius began casting basic detection spells around the room, whilst Dumbledore made complex incantations and wand movements. After about a minute of busy silence, the Headmaster walked over to one end of the room._

 _"Harry, Sirius – I think I've found it." Dumbledore said quietly, the other two immediately hurrying over to his side. Dumbledore had his wand pointed at the floorboards in front of him, and as they began to peel away, bending out of shape thanks to the Headmaster's transfigurations, a gold box was revealed, sitting on the ground underneath the floor. Dumbledore grimaced a little. "Yes, this is it. Step back, the both of you." He ordered, Harry and Sirius hastening to comply. Levitating the box out from under the floor, Dumbledore placed it in the centre of the room, and began weaving his wand over it carefully. After a moment or two, the Headmaster straightened up, before pointing his wand at the box and calling out "_ _ **Desolatus!**_ _"_

 _The golden box started to bubble and lose texture, as dully-coloured liquid dripped off of the edges. Harry realised with a start that it wasn't any liquid at all – Dumbledore was_ _ **melting**_ _the box completely!_

 _Within moments the box was little more than a puddle of molten gold in the hole under the floor before it abruptly reformed back into shape, the floorboards folding down into place, covering the box as if it had never moved. The ring of Marvolo Gaunt hung suspended in the air._

 _Suddenly, Dumbledore, a strange look on his face, reached for it, and put it onto his finger._

 _The reaction was immediate – Sirius yelled out "Wait, Albus-" and even as he did so, the ring glowed a sickly yellow, and the Headmaster started screaming._

 _Harry stood in shock as the old man fell to his knees, his mouth open and eyes wide with terror and pain, yelling and thrashing as beams of yellow light pulsed up his arm, the flesh on his fingers turning an unnatural grey. Sirius ran towards the Headmaster, trying in vain to summon the ring from his finger, before grabbing him under the arms and hauling him towards the door, grunting with the effort._

 _"Harry!" Sirius cried, breaking Harry out of his shock. "We need to get back to Hogwarts_ _ **now!**_ _" Harry nodded, and ran to the door – looking out, his heart stopped in his chest._

 _Their footprints were gone. They couldn't set foot outside._

 _"Sirius, the footprints are gone!" Harry exclaimed, Dumbledore's yelling nearly drowning him out._

 _"Bollocks!" Sirius shouted, trying to keep the old man still. "There's no time!"_

 _Harry had a sudden idea. "Sirius, banish me across the garden to the road, then I'll summon the both of you to me!"_

 _Sirius looked at him like he'd lost his mind, before simply nodding and pointing his wand at Harry, who angled himself into the doorway. "_ _ **Depulso!**_ _" Sirius yelled, sending Harry flying through the air, soaring headlong over the overgrown garden before crashing onto the icy tarmac, crying out at the impact._

 _Struggling upright, Harry pointed his wand at Sirius and the thrashing Dumbledore, before roaring "_ _ **Accio!**_ _", the two men being flung towards him as if fired from a cannon, both landing badly on the road in a heap._

 _Getting to his feet, Sirius pulled the still-writhing Dumbledore up and held him tightly to his side. "I'll take Albus back now, Harry, and I'll come to get you as soon as I can!_ _ **Stay here!**_ _" Sirius ordered, before Disapparating on the spot with a sharp_ _ **crack**_ _._

* * *

When Sirius came back for Harry a few painfully tense minutes later, he was pale and worried. Getting back to Hogwarts, Sirius filled Harry in as they hurtled through the deserted corridors to the Hospital Wing. Himself and Madam Pomfrey had managed to get the ring off, and Professor Snape had prevented the spread of the curse for the moment – but Dumbledore was badly injured from their escape from the Gaunt shack, and his condition was serious.

It was a subdued Harry that had retreated to Gryffindor Tower that night, unable to stop thinking about how he could have prevented this catastrophe from happening. Harry didn't sleep, and for the first time in his life, genuinely doubted his chances of defeating Voldemort.

The Headmaster had never fully recovered from the incident with the ring, and although they destroyed the Horcrux later that week with the Sword of Gryffindor, the incurable curse it had carried would ensure Dumbledore's death within a year. Weakened, and needing to use a cane to walk around from then on, the Headmaster looked almost like a different person, weary and frail, but the old man had still smiled and congratulated Harry on his quick thinking for their escape. He didn't ever tell Harry why he'd tried to put on the ring, and whenever Harry asked him would merely sigh, and say vaguely that it was "a terrible lapse in judgement".

It was seeing first-hand the lengths that Voldemort would go to in order to protect the Horcruxes that made Harry realise just how underprepared he was to face him. Unfortunately for Harry, he never had much of a choice.

* * *

Looking over the plans for Malfoy Manor once more, Harry thought about everything Dobby had told him. After hearing about the town of Marlborough nearby, where the elf had gone to buy food for the pantry, Harry had worked out the rough location of the Manor, firmly setting Dobby at ease over not being able to reveal its location. With a rough schematic for the house and grounds, Harry began to carefully plan the heist.

Making several trips to the area over the next few days, Harry – under his Invisibility Cloak – headed deep into the forests near Marlborough to try and find the estate's entrance. After several attempts and many hours of searching, Harry stumbled onto a neat gravel road, finding himself looking up at a set of impressive metal gates. Casting a few simple detection spells from under the cloak, Harry learned of some interesting charms on the gates, as well as powerful protective spells on the neat walls and hedges to either side.

 _This has to be it. But how to get in?_

Harry paused a moment to marvel at his luck when he heard the tell-tale _crack_ of Apparition further up the road, followed by approaching footsteps. Darting out of the way and into the treeline, Harry watched a black-robed wizard, undoubtedly a Death Eater, stride up to the gates before pulling back his left sleeve, revealing the Dark Mark in what looked like some kind of salute. Suddenly, the gates seemed fuzzy, and Harry reflexively checked to make sure his glasses were still on, in case it was his eyesight that was tricking him. Watching carefully, Harry saw the Death Eater walk _through_ the gates, the metal simply disappearing like smoke as he moved over the threshold, before reforming into solid bars the moment he passed through.

 _Unless I want to blast my way in, I'm going to need to get my hands on a Death Eater. Shouldn't be too hard, considering how many there are these days._

Returning to the ruins of Hogwarts for some rest and food, Harry spoke with Dobby one more time, going over the last of the information the elf could give him about the Manor, before retiring to bed. He'd capture a Death Eater tomorrow, and launch the heist under cover of darkness.


	5. Waking Nightmares, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Work has progressed ahead of schedule, so here's chapter five! Hope you all enjoy.**

 **There's a postscript at the end of the chapter that explains a major choice I've made in this story, so please read to the end if you find yourself a little confused about a thing or two!**

 **As always, thank you all for your wonderful support and please feel free to follow, favourite or review!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry rose from bed late in the day, the sun already well on its way towards the horizon. After his breakfast and a quick, calming swim in the lake, he began to prepare for the first stage of his plan – the kidnapping of a Death Eater. Dressing in the muggle military gear that he kept on hand for covert missions, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and Apparated to Diagon Alley with a _crack_.

Since Voldemort's full takeover of the Ministry of Magic at the end of Harry's sixth year, Wizarding Britain had existed in a state of resigned acceptance. The most open opposition to the Dark Lord from the general public was too late to stop him, and had been quickly stamped out in the months after the coup by the newly-reformed DMLE, now the Department of Magical Security. The DMS, aside from maintaining order and low-level law enforcement, was a formality, simply the official outlet for the Death Eaters, who operated with impunity after its formation. Many Ministry departments were shuttered under DMS control, such as the Department of Magical Transportation and the new Muggle-Born Registration Commission. Acting as judge, jury and executioner, the DMS personnel and Death Eaters legitimised Voldemort's government through force, and before long the resistance was driven underground completely.

The desolation of Voldemort's success was only too clear, as Harry looked along the cobbled street of Diagon Alley, unnoticed under his Invisibility Cloak. The sense of wonder that Harry had once felt taking in the view of all the strange wizarding shops had long since vanished. There were no more bustling crowds, children eager to see the latest broom at _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ , or wizards discussing the _Daily Prophet_ outside _Flourish & Blotts_. Instead, the street sat nearly deserted, people walking quickly from place to place, keeping their heads down and talking in hushed voices to equally-hurried companions. The shops that were open had subdued displays and darkened windows, no longer looking welcoming to any passing shoppers. Posters were placed on every available wall, urging the public for information on _Undesirable Number One_. Harry paused for a moment to look at the posters, and saw his seventeen-year-old face looking out.

 _Don't remember when that was taken. Definitely had fewer scars then, that's for sure._

Harry swore it was his imagination, but as he turned away, for a moment it seemed like the Harry in the poster looked _right_ at him, smiling sadly. Startled, he looked back, only to see that the poster was exactly how it was before, its unsmiling face looking blankly ahead.

 _Now's not the time to lose it, Harry._

Shaking his head under the cloak, Harry walked quickly over to the stairs that lead to Knockturn Alley, keeping his wand out and moving carefully so that the cloak didn't slip. Although Harry visited Knockturn every once in a while to pursue information, he transfigured his features and went at night for good measure. In the half-light of the evening, he might still be recognisable. The muggle clothes were a dead giveaway too – if he were caught, he'd certainly be dead within a few hours.

* * *

Walter Jugson, walking through the dimly-lit, winding streets of Knockturn Alley, liked to think that he was a good Death Eater. He always did as the Dark Lord commanded, and never let his muggle sport get too out of hand. He didn't sneer, like Lucius Malfoy, and didn't murder as a first resort, like Bellatrix Lestrange. He did his part for the new order in Britain, and he did it well enough.

After a full day of dealing with the seemingly endless pile of paperwork on his desk at the DMS, Jugson's thoughts were fixed firmly on the Firewhisky he knew was waiting for him at _The Hydra's Den_. Maybe he'd get lucky for once, and find a pretty witch to take home for the night, he thought happily to himself.

As he was walking, something glinting on the ground caught his eye. He stopped, and looked down at it. Lying on the cobblestones was a single Golden Galleon. Never one to pass up some free money, Jugson knelt down to pick it up, happy that he'd definitely be able to get more drinks than he'd planned tonight. Working for the Ministry did not pay all that well, even if you were a Death Eater.

He didn't even see the **_Imperius_** Curse that was fired at him from the shadows.

* * *

Harry sent a command through the **_Imperius_** to the Death Eater to stand up. With a blank look on his face, the black-robed man stood up calmly.

 _Good, he's not too strong-willed. Probably never had it cast on him before_ , Harry thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Harry ordered the Death Eater to take the Galleon and walk over to where he was stood in an alcove nearby. The man lumbered over obediently, and Harry held his wand tightly as he grabbed the man's shoulder, before Disapparating on the spot.

Night was already upon them as the pair appeared back in the woods near Malfoy Manor. Keeping his wand on the Death Eater and staying close under the cloak, Harry ordered him to approach the gates. Within a minute of arriving, they were standing before the impressive metalwork of Malfoy Manor's front entrance. Harry stood right behind the Death Eater, holding his wand at the man's neck – he couldn't afford the alarm to be raised this soon. Ordering the wizard to perform the salute, the Death Eater blankly stood in front of the gates before pulling back his left sleeve, and holding the Dark Mark up to the gates. The gates began to lose opacity, and adopted the similar blurriness that Harry had seen before. Harry commanded the man to walk forwards, keeping his hand on the Death Eater's shoulder, and praying that his proximity to the man and the cloak would be enough to confuse the security charms.

They passed through the gates, the metallic smoke curling around their bodies as they crossed the threshold. Harry held his breath. The sounds of the rustling trees and gravel underfoot seemed to drown out everything else except the thumping of his heart.

A moment passed as the two men walked up the road, looking ahead at the impressive towers and neat gardens of Malfoy Manor. After a few more seconds, Harry exhaled shakily. The absence of magical alarms or any hordes of Death Eaters meant that the charms hadn't detected him. Quickly stunning the Death Eater and rolling him under a nearby hedge, Harry looked up at the massive house in front of him, his mouth set into a determined line.

He was in.

Harry had gone over in his notes the likely location for the Locket's cabinet, and had decided that it was most likely in the Manor's trophy room, located on the third floor. To get there, he had a few options: he could go through the front doors and up the main staircase – which was the most direct route – he could scale the roof and enter via the fourth floor, or lastly he could enter via the rear conservatory, and make his way up a secondary stairwell. Any of these routes were filled with unknown variables, but now that he was on the grounds, Harry didn't have the option of backing out and returning. The Death Eater could be discovered, and the Locket would be moved, and Harry would be back at square one. No, he'd come this far – he'd see it through.

Harry crept through the gardens under the cloak, the darkness of night submerging the hedges and statues into shadow. As he neared the outer wall of the Manor, he pointed his wand at the nearest window and whispered " ** _Homenum Revelio_** **.** " A slight, undetectable pulse of magic swept over the interior of the house, and after a moment the tip of Harry's wand glowed red, and flashed seven times, signalling the number of life signatures inside. He grimaced a little at his odds, but tried to keep in mind that the Manor was – put simply – huge, and with no small amount of good luck he could be in and out before anyone noticed him.

That was the plan, in any case.

 _The front entrance will be too risky,_ Harry thought, _and I don't want to be exposed out here any longer than necessary. Roof entry it is, then._

Stepping away from the wall, Harry cast a quick Sticking Charm on the cloak to stop it falling off as he made his way up. Putting about twenty metres between himself and the ground floor windows, Harry looked up at the roof. Mentally admonishing himself for what he was about to do, he focused on the grass about five metres from the Manor. Digging in his feet, he ran forwards, his boots thumping on the grass loudly as he hurtled towards the house. Nearing his target, he thrust his wand upwards and whispered " ** _Ascendio!_** "

Immediately, Harry's feet left the grass as he was flung high into the air, his momentum sending him in a tall arc over the top of the roof, giving Harry a momentary view over the treetops that extended into the distance.

As he passed the apex of his flight, he pointed his wand at himself, gritted his teeth in concentration and whispered another incantation.

" ** _Arresto Momentum!_** "

Harry's descent towards the roof slowed drastically, and he landed softly on the steep tiles, pitching forward and pressing his body weight against the roof to avoid slipping off. Casting more Sticking Charms, this time on his boots, he rose to a crouch before moving along the roof as if it were flat ground. Spotting a window slightly lower down the roof in front of him, Harry moved to the side, keeping his wand raised at the glass under the cloak as he walked in front of it. Letting out a quick sigh of relief after seeing the inside of the attic deserted, Harry examined the window.

 _Locked tight – doubt an_ _ **Alohomora**_ _will get it open from the outside. Maybe Transfiguration?_

Cancelling the charms on his boots, Harry pointed his wand at the window frame before whispering a general incantation for environmental Transfiguration.

" ** _Reformis!_** " Grunting with the effort as he manipulated the wood and glass of the window whilst trying not to break it open, Harry willed the frame to reshape as he needed. The wood creaked worryingly, but complied with Harry's spell, and began to shift to either side, leaving a small space between the now separate halves of the window. Harry held his wand up, his palm sweating slightly as he maintained the spell, before he squeezed through, dropping down onto the wooden floor of the attic. After sweeping his eyes over the covered furniture and piles of trunks that made up most of the attic's contents, Harry turned back to the window, repealing the Transfiguration and allowing the wood and glass to return to its original shape, the window making a small _pop_ as it finished shifting. Harry paused and took a few deep breaths, his heartbeat returning to normal after a few moments.

Before he moved further into the house, a memory of Sirius' lessons flashed into his mind.

* * *

 _Sirius sat across from Harry in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a pile of books between them and his eyes on the teenager in front of him._

 _"What is the first thing you do when you find yourself in enemy territory, Harry?" Sirius asked, smirking slightly at Harry's fidgeting when he didn't appear to know the answer. "Right, you've never really_ _ **had**_ _a plan before, have you?" Sirius winked at Harry, who smiled sheepishly._

 _"Never mind. First lesson then. The absolute first thing you do, once you're in enemy territory and undetected, is_ _ **make sure you have an escape route.**_ _" Sirius stated, before suddenly breaking out into a wistful grin, his eyes moving off of Harry and glazing over slightly. "I remember this one time with your Dad and I, we were trying to get into the Slytherin Dorms…"_

* * *

Harry pinched himself suddenly, the pain making him gasp quietly.

 _STAY FOCUSED._

Looking back over the window, Harry pointed his wand and muttered " ** _Alohomora_** **.** " To his surprise, he heard the audible _click_ of the window's lock opening, and he propped the window open slightly in preparation for his departure. Turning back to the attic, Harry started creeping between the sheet-covered furniture in search of a way down to the third floor. After a minute or two, and an _incredibly_ tense moment when a floorboard had creaked loudly under Harry's boot, he found a raised ladder above a closed trapdoor.

 _Bingo._

Crouching down and opening the trapdoor as quietly as he could, Harry looked down into the dimly-lit hallway below. He stayed still, listening intently for any noise that might indicate someone nearby. Unwilling to use a Supersensory Charm as it might be difficult to isolate noise accurately, Harry hoped that he could trust his ears. Hearing nothing and letting out a steady breath he didn't know he'd been holding, he cast a quick **_Wingardium Leviosa_** on the ladder before lowering it gently down to the polished wooden floorboards of the hallway beneath. Descending the ladder under the cloak, Harry rapidly pointed his wand both up and down the hallway, looking for any sign of movement.

 _No one. So far, so good._

Harry left the ladder and attic door open, but wary of leaving them visible cast Notice-Me-Not-Charms on them, hoping that no one would end up walking into the ladder whilst they weren't looking. Judging his position in the Manor against the layout he'd gotten from Dobby, the most direct route to the trophy room was straight ahead, into the main ballroom and then left to the trophy room's doors. Steeling himself, Harry began to creep along the hallway, his breathing shaky and his wand up under the cloak.

He paused when he heard a door close on the next floor below, loud footsteps echoing through the corridors. Remaining perfectly still, he waited for the footsteps to fade away to another part of the house before continuing onwards.

Opening an impressive set of doors as quietly as he could, Harry found himself in the ballroom. Exquisite architecture and murals on the walls depicted scenes of wizarding history and legendary feats of magic. The wooden dancefloor was polished to a mirror sheen, and the moonlight flooded the room through the massive windows that ran along the outer edge. A grand fireplace sat empty at the far end of the room, a small display case placed neatly above it on the mantelpiece. Harry was about to move to the ornate doors that led to the trophy room, when he paused, glancing again at the fireplace, the display case catching his eye.

Walking closer, Harry took it off the mantelpiece and placed it on one of the round tables that dotted the edges of the room, close to the window so he could see what it held.

 _Damn, it's not the Locket. Wait…_

The case's contents were clear to see in the moonlight, and beneath the glass were displayed two shockingly similar wands. Ordinarily this wouldn't particularly surprise Harry – many old wizarding families kept the wands of vanquished enemies or powerful members. What made the breath catch in his throat, and his heart constrict painfully, however, were two initials scratched into the handles of the wands – sloppily, as if done by a child, but similar in their execution.

Each wand bore one initial. An _F_ , and a _G_.

 _Oh, God… these were Fred and George's…_

Harry waited a moment, his mission forgotten as his eyes brimmed with tears. He popped open the latch on the case, and took the wands, stuffing them into a trouser pocket.

 _At least I know what happened to them. I'm not leaving these here. They deserved better than this._

Rallying his resolve, Harry turned back to the trophy room doors, the case left forgotten on the table. Pushing down the ornate silver handle, Harry entered Malfoy Manor's trophy room.

It wasn't unlike the one that used to sit behind the Great Hall at Hogwarts, with rows of glass display cases, filled with trophies and trinkets. Above the doors and all around the edge of the ceiling there hung stuffed animal heads. The only creature Harry immediately recognised was that of a Hippogriff, the feathers that coated the animal's skin beautifully preserved. Moonlight shone through the tall windows that ran along one side of the room, reflecting off of the glass and metal of its contents, creating a sea of glittering silver. Harry crept forward, letting the ballroom door shut behind him, as he searched amongst the displays for the Locket.

After about a minute of looking, a solitary display case by one of the windows drew Harry's attention, as if he were being pulled by a weak magnet. Inside, draped over a small stand, sat what Harry had been looking for. The Locket of Salazar Slytherin.

Harry didn't need to examine it carefully to know that it was the genuine article, instead of the cheap copy that he and Dumbledore found in the cave at the end of Harry's sixth year. Where the copy had been brass and wood, the Locket sat gently shining in the moonlight, the amber glass of its front and back pristine. Just beneath the surface, the glittering emeralds of the letter _S_ were coiled like a serpent.

 _Another step towards finishing the mission._

Harry started casting every detection charm he knew on the case. He couldn't afford to be careless here. Coming up strangely blank, he started examining the latch…

* * *

The sudden instinct to duck was all the warning Harry had, as the purple light of a Binding Curse shot over his head, smacking into the wall with a loud _crack_ , the stonework scorched and damaged beneath it. Whirling about, the Invisibility Cloak flying from around his shoulders at the sudden motion, Harry send a Blasting Curse in the general direction of his attacker, the spell smashing into one of the trophy cabinets, shattering glass and the crashing sound of its contents echoing in the room as they cascaded onto the floor. Not stopping for fear of being struck again, Harry dived behind a suit of armour, pausing and listening intently. He looked back at the cloak, mentally cursing for not reapplying the Sticking Charms. The room was suddenly, ominously silent after the brief exchange of spells, and Harry held his breath a moment, tilting his head and listening intently.

A mirthless chuckle echoed from the end of the room where Harry had entered.

"You've got good reflexes, _thief_." The voice spat out. Harry thought he recognised it, but he wasn't sure. "Who are you, to think you can steal from a Malfoy and live to brag about it?"

Suddenly, it clicked in Harry's mind.

 _OH, SHIT._

"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" The elder Malfoy drawled, his tone shifting from angry to bored in an instant.

 _I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE. NOW._

"Well, I'll have to settle for seeing your corpse, then." All of a sudden, Lucius' voice sounded strangely distorted. Panicked, Harry leapt from his cover behind the armour, and not a moment too soon – the spot where he had been a moment before was suddenly wrapped in ice blue flames, the wood of the display cases exploding into splinters and charcoal as the torrent swept down the centre of the room. Standing, Harry locked eyes with Lucius, the latter's face rising in momentary surprise before it fell back under an emotionless mask.

"Of course, I should've known it would be you, _Potter_." Lucius spoke the last word with venom in his tone. "Come for a little payback? I noticed you found my little trophies." Despite his wrinkles and greying hair, the Malfoy patriarch was immediately recognisable, his pointed, narrow face pulling into a twisted grin at the mention of the Weasley Twins. Harry mentally kicked himself for leaving the display case open.

Harry didn't respond, keeping his wand up and silently casting a **_Protego_** shield spell on himself whilst Malfoy talked.

"They put up a good fight, but better blood _always_ wins," Malfoy taunted, his face impassive but his eyes blazing with anger.

"It's a shame we've already killed most of your mudblood friends; I wouldn't have minded some sport!" The last word came out as a shout, a sudden burst of orange light lancing across the room at Harry, ricocheting off of his shield as he ducked left, the spell gouging a massive, diagonal fissure into the wall when it hit.

 _Delay him. Get the Locket._

Harry fired off a few minor hexes at Malfoy, the elderly man neatly rolling his shoulders out of the way, leaving the spells to fly out of the doors and into the ballroom. As Malfoy dodged, Harry edged a few steps closer to the Locket, seeing now that the glass of the display case was broken, most likely due to one of Malfoy's spells.

"Is that the best you can do? School-grade spells? _Pathetic_." Malfoy sneered, before throwing a sickly yellow curse at Harry's chest. Harry ducked behind the locket's case, the spell shooting past his ear and tearing into the window jamb, the brickwork exploding inwards, showering Harry in splinters and dust.

 _There's no way I can get out with him covering me like this._

Gritting his teeth in effort, Harry flicked his wand in a wide arc, feeling the creaking of the room as the floorboards began to bend and tear, stretching out of shape before forming a low wall between himself and Lucius. Ducking out from behind cover and darting behind the burned trophy cases in the centre of the room, Harry released the Transfiguration letting the floor snap back into place and sending a powerful pulse of magic in both directions. Turning around, Harry raised his wand at the destroyed cases in front of him.

" ** _Depulso!_** " Harry roared, sending the splintered wood and shards of glass hurtling towards Lucius, the older man having to throw himself to the side as the contents of the room smashed into the far wall with an almighty _crash_. Settling into a duelling stance, and trying to ignore the beads of sweat that were slowly running down his brow, Harry raised his wand at Malfoy, preparing to subdue the Death Eater so that he could escape with the Locket. About to cast **_Petrificus Totalus_** , the Full Body-Bind Curse, a high, cold voice rang out across the room, making Harry's hear stand on end and his heart thump loudly in his ears in panic.

"Lucius, step aside and let me deal with Potter." Lord Voldemort ordered, standing in the doorway to the ballroom, his red, snake-like eyes gleaming with hatred as they fixed onto Harry's green ones.

 _RUN. GET OUT!_

Not waiting for Voldemort to make his move, Harry thrust his wand forward and yelled " ** _SCUTUS MURUS!_** "

A massive wall of magical energy flooded between Harry and the other two, crackling with power. Voldemort's eyes flicked over the shield in front of him, seemingly impressed. Raising his own wand, he slashed it downwards, the shield cracking at first, then being ripped into two parts, the halves being thrown aside and fizzling out.

Harry was already on the move, his breathing heavy as he reached out for the Locket, his wand gripped in his palm.

Voldemort's wand was raised at the man before him, the words of the Killing Curse forming on his lips.

Harry's hand closed around the Locket, and suddenly, a pulse of magic shot up his arm.

His eyes widened as he realised his terrible mistake.

* * *

 **P.S.**

 **A quick word on wards: I decided not to go into too much detail about the nature of protective enchantments in this story as I didn't want to get bogged down in exposition, and didn't think I could do the more complicated descriptive work it requires justice like other authors can. Therefore, please note that Malfoy Manor is not _unprotected_ per se, but that the wards on the front gate act - in a similar fashion to the Gaunt shack's door in the previous chapter, as a 'master key', that once bypassed by someone bearing the Dark Mark allow full entry. As for how Harry can get in after Jugson, well, the Cloak of Invisibility is not just any old cloak, is it? *wink***


	6. Waking Nightmares, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter** **, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again, everyone! Big, big chapter dump tonight - nearly 5,000 words in all. I've broken it up as much as I can, but the rest is all too important to the story to take apart, so here's chapter six, in all its bloated glory!**

 **The time-travel will happen soon, I've just been building up to it, exploring my version of Harry and how events lead up to it, rather than just jumping in and explaining it all with exposition-filled flashbacks. So thank you all for your patience!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry barely had time to draw breath before the pain started. Total, unbearable pain. The Locket vibrated and heated up in his hand, his fist magically held shut around its chain, preventing Harry from letting it go. Pulses of magic ran up his arm and thundered towards his heart, the skin on his hand blackening and cracking under the curse.

Then, his hand ignited with black magical flames, sparks of magic shooting off like embers as it started to consume his flesh.

Before Harry had even realised it, he was screaming, screaming at the top of his lungs as the Locket's curse began to destroy him. Wobbling on his feet, he collapsed onto one knee, then onto his back, writhing in pain as convulsions wracked his body. He cast his eyes over towards Voldemort, seeing the man's face twisted into an awful expression of triumph as he glared back.

MAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOPMAKEITSTOP.

"Enjoying the curse, Harry?" Voldemort asked, his tone dripping with malice. "It's one of my own design. Now that you've touched the Locket, you'll be dead in less than three days. And it'll be _painful_ , oh yes." Voldemort smiled sickeningly, ignoring Harry's screaming.

"But," he sighed somewhat dejectedly, "as entertaining as it might be to see you live out your last days in agony, I don't think I can leave this to chance. The Boy-Who-Lived," Voldemort sneered as he mocked Harry's old title, "it's time for you to _die_." As he spat the last word, the green light of **_Avada Kedavra_** lanced towards Harry's convulsing form.

 _NOT LIKE THIS._

Acting on instinct, Harry rolled his body to the side, the spell smacking into the floorboards and sending shards of wood in every direction, several of them stabbing through Harry's fatigues and into his back and legs. As Voldemort raised his wand again, preparing to cast another curse, Harry threw his flaming arm out, twisting his clenched hand so that he shakily pointed his wand at the red-eyed wizard. He couldn't make any incantations, but that didn't seem to slow him. There was a loud _BANG_ and both Voldemort and Malfoy were thrown to the floor.

Not waiting for them to get up, Harry struggled to his feet, whimpering and gasping as the pain in his arm spread to his chest. The flames were now progressing past the elbow, and his hand was blackened and ruined.

Half-running, half-stumbling towards the nearest window, Harry threw himself forwards, crashing through the glass and out into the night, the cold air whipping across his face for a moment before he landed in a heap on the gravel. On impact, he felt his ankle snap, the _crack_ of the bone breaking echoing like a gunshot. Harry hauled himself to his feet again, tears of anguish running down his face as he limped as fast as he could towards the front gates. Someone shouted behind him, their voice far away to Harry as he carried on. The grass to his right exploded as a spell struck it, soil and rocks thrown outwards, the shockwave making Harry stumble slightly. He swung his arm back to fire a curse in retaliation when he noticed his wand.

It was broken. Blackened and burned out, the wood splintered in places and the bright red of the Phoenix feather glinting in the moonlight.

Crying out in pain and despair, Harry limped onwards, his crippled leg dragging on the gravel behind him. Curses continued to rain down from the house, craters being carved into the ground left and right. The gates were in sight, just a few metres away. Out of ideas and with no way through, Harry just threw out his ruined arm, hoping that the gates would open.

Despite his lack of a wand, the metal gates screamed in protest as they bent outwards, the stone pillars holding them in place cracking and rupturing. Throwing himself over the threshold, Harry screamed in pain as he hit the ground.

"…D-Dobby…" he choked out as he lost consciousness, "…help."

* * *

Dobby the House-Elf sat on the floor of the cave near Hogsmeade that was his current hideout, surrounded by ancient books and rolls of yellowed parchment. He flicked through a worn tome in his lap with his spindly fingers, the book having been stolen from a shelf in the abandoned Department of Mysteries.

Dobby sighed dejectedly. Months of research, and he had only made a little progress towards the knowledge he sought. Most of the books on time-travel he'd obtained from wizards' collections across the country merely discussed Time-Turners, or other mythological instances of time magic. The trip to the Department of Mysteries a few weeks ago had been a last resort for the elf, and entering the Ministry had been incredibly dangerous. However, the advantage of being what many considered to be a lower life form had helped Dobby immensely, and the anti-wizard protections on the old departments were easily bypassed by the plucky creature.

Turning yet another weathered, stained page, Dobby continued to read. The book, an ancient diary belonging to a powerful but forgotten wizard, had proven to be the most useful source Dobby had found yet on time-travel, which was most likely why the book was secured in the Department of Mysteries.

Suddenly, Dobby paused, doing a double-take.

Scrawled across a double spread of pages were diagrams of a complex spell. Reading on, Dobby began to decipher the text, and his spirits steadily lifted. He remembered what his friend Harry Potter had told him, once – _to always have a backup plan in case things go wrong._ Dobby had thought little of it at the time, but as the years wore by and more and more things went wrong forever, the elf began to understand.

His ears pricked up as he heard Harry Potter's summons. Closing the book abruptly, Dobby stood, and disappeared with a _crack._

* * *

Harry's eyes blinked open. Groggily, he looked around, everything appearing blurry without his glasses. He _thought_ it was his dungeon hideout at Hogwarts, but he'd need his glasses to be sure. He went to search his pockets for them, and with a jolt realised that he couldn't move his arm. Confused, he tried again, only to feel taut straps of some kind pin his arm to the unfamiliar chair he now realised he was sat in.

Harry started to panic, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts. He tried to kick his legs out and stand up, and found them tied to the chair as well. He tried to move his head, and realised with a start that a large strap was pulled tight across his throat, keeping him in place. Wherever he was, he was trapped.

He was broken out of his panic attack by someone throwing open the door in front of him. He thought that the man silhouetted against the torchlight outside looked familiar, but it wasn't until the figure stormed forward and rammed Harry's glasses back onto his face painfully that he gasped in shocked recognition.

Standing before him was Albus Dumbledore. Whole, uninjured and exuding an aura of power and… rage?

Dumbledore stepped back, his electric blue eyes sizing Harry up, an uncharacteristic expression of cold fury on his face. Harry was stunned, and felt a flutter of fear in his stomach.

"Professor? What… how… where am I?" Harry blurted. "What's going on?" He asked, his voice panicky and uneven.

"Silence!" Dumbledore barked angrily. Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock at the Headmaster's tone. The old man suddenly slumped, dropping his head into his hands. When he raised his eyes again, he looked old and frail. "Please," Dumbledore implored quietly. "Tell me why you've done this, Harry. Tell me how we lost you, how you fell so far."

Harry's confusion deepened, and he stared suspiciously at the man before him.

 _That can't be Professor Dumbledore. It's not possible. HE DIED._

"What the hell are you talking about?" Harry half-shouted in retort. "Why the _fuck_ am I tied to this chair in…" Harry suddenly recognised the room he was in, "…Snape's office!?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, the sadness fleeing them and being replaced by a kind of animalistic rage that Harry had never seen before from the Headmaster. It was frightening to behold.

Dumbledore drew himself up to his full height, magic crashing off of him in waves, Professor Snape's specimen jars rattling and shaking on the shelves as he roared, "It's because of _you_ , that Voldemort has won! You didn't fight hard enough! Whenever it got difficult, you just let others _die_ rather than risk your own life!" The Headmaster's hands were quivering with rage, his fingers twitching towards his sleeve, where Harry knew he kept his wand. "We all fought against him, and we _trusted_ you! You abandoned us. You abandoned the _mission!_ " Dumbledore shouted, frustrated tears pouring down his face.

Harry was stunned with disbelief, which even as he felt it, turned to anger. As he defiantly stared back at the old man, the resentful thoughts that had sat in the deepest recesses of his mind poured forth like a tsunami, smothering his confusion in a red mist of violent emotion. Harry spluttered for breath as he yelled back, rattling the chair as he fought his restraints.

" _The mission?_ How _dare_ you!" He screamed at the old man before him. "I didn't need your trust, or anyone else's. I needed you _alive!_ " He drew in a shaky breath. "Voldemort's a Dark Lord with decades of experience and skill, and you thought that me – a _child_ by comparison – could defeat him by _myself?_ I needed you, Dumbledore, AND YOU DIED, LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!" He tried to leap out of the chair, but was held fast by the restraints, only succeeding in compressing his throat, leaving him choking and coughing.

Dumbledore looked at him contemptuously, before turning and sweeping from the room, the door slamming shut behind him. Even as Harry tried to focus on his surroundings, to try and find a way out, everything seemed to fall out of focus, and distort at sickening angles, before fading to black.

* * *

Harry opened his eyes again to the sound of clanging metal and distant, howling winds. Once again, he tried to move but found himself tied securely to a wall by large manacles and chains, unable to even change from the standing position he was stuck in. Everything faded into focus slowly, as some kind of… presence… receded into the distance. Someone nearby was whimpering; others were screaming with throats so hoarse that it came out like a whisper, nearly drowned out by the winds.

Looking around, he saw that he was in some kind of prison cell. He didn't need to guess that the weird presence he felt probably belonged to Dementors, which meant he was likely in Azkaban, the wizard prison.

 _Azkaban? But how the hell can I be here? Was all that with Dumbledore real? What the hell is going on?_

The sound of clanking chains to his right broke him out of his thinking. Turning his head as best he could in the rusty metal collar that held his neck to the wall, he saw a figure on the floor, chains tying his hands and feet together. The ragged prison outfit and wild, matted hair looked disturbingly familiar to Harry, and when the man lifted his head, the breath caught in his throat as he took in the gaunt, pallid face of Sirius Black. Harry's godfather cast his eyes over the man chained to the wall, a faint glimmer of recognition visible in his deadened eyes.

"Ah, so the disappointment wakes at last," Sirius rasped, his voice hoarse and barely recognisable. "You're lucky you get to pass out when they come past. Saves you the worst of it. Not that you deserve _that,_ " he spat coldly, his eyes now gleaming with crazed hatred.

"Sirius… I…" Harry stammered, "…just what the hell is going on here? First Dumbledore, now you? You _can't be here!_ " Harry hissed down at the man on the floor.

Sirius didn't seem to register what Harry had said, and kept talking as if no one had responded. "I _trained_ you, boy." Harry's godfather sounded close to Uncle Vernon when he spoke the last part. "We had a _plan!_ We were the leaders, the two of us. And you betrayed everything. You betrayed _me._ "

 _He can't be talking about what happened at Hogwarts? How can he be here? He's dead! Just like Dumbledore…_

"What happened at Hogwarts-" Harry started, but Sirius cut him off.

"-Wasn't your fault?" He hacked out something that sounded like a laugh. "Of _course_ it was your fault!" He barked, shaking with rage. "If you'd killed Wormtail when you had the chance, I'd still be alive! I might even have gotten my freedom." The last sentence came out as a whisper. "Instead, your pathetic excuse for mercy cost me _everything_."

Harry could only stare, shocked, as Sirius drew in a shuddering breath before continuing. "I never wanted you, you know. The moment I saw you, I knew then and there, that you'd be the one who killed me." Harry saw nothing of the Sirius he knew in this man's eyes. Where there should have been love and mischief, there was only rage and hatred, as if Harry were something particularly unpleasant on the sole of Sirius' shoe.

Tears began to run down Harry's face, the anger at whatever… this was… fading away, turning to soul-wrenching despair in an instant.

 _This isn't real. This isn't real. This isn't real._

Before he could retort, the room temperature plummeted, the raging storm outside sounding suddenly muted. Harry knew what was coming, and even as he heard the all-too-recognisable sound of his mother screaming in the distance, he heard Sirius say one, last, heart-breaking thing.

"I wish I'd never broken out of here to save you. Dementors are _nothing_ compared to the pain you've caused."

Harry had barely registered the statement before his head dropped in the collar, passing out.

* * *

He was somewhere warm, somewhere nice. The change in temperature from the cells of Azkaban was sudden, and Harry jerked from his now sitting position, relieved to find that he could move his legs and his arm. The sound of birds chirping and the gentle rustling of trees came from an open window. Glancing around, he recognised the comfortable living room of the Weasley house, the Burrow.

 _What the-_

 _-FOCUS. THE LOCKET. YOUR WAND._

Harry snapped out of his observations, his eyes darting down to examine his arm. He was surprised, then, to see – instead of the blackened, ruined flesh that he expected – pristine, clean skin glowing in the sunlight. Examining his clothes, realising that he was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he started patting his pockets in search of his wand, finding nothing. Standing up, he began to pace through the room, looking for anything that might get him out of here, and back to reality.

"You're finally wizening up, aren't you, Harry?" A voice called out from behind him, making his heart skip a beat. Turning around cautiously, he found himself staring at a familiar, freckled redhead. Instead of the boyish smile that regularly adorned his friend's face, the man instead wore a sad, contemplative expression.

 _Ron…_

"Bit late, though," Ron Weasley remarked. "You always enjoyed our little adventures, didn't you, Harry?" He asked rhetorically. "But then, you enjoyed being the centre of attention."

"Ron… what-" Harry tried to talk, the words rolling haltingly off of his tongue before Ron cut him off, the redhead's expression twisting into a scowl.

"-You never thought of what _your_ war did to us, did you, Harry?" Ron asked, the acid in his tone surprising Harry.

"No, he didn't." Another voice responded from Harry's other side, one that he would recognise anywhere.

"He was too _busy_ trying to save the world, he never saw what happened to the people who lived in it." Hermione Granger stated coolly, her brown, bushy hair catching the afternoon sunlight through the window. Despite the beautiful day outside, the atmosphere in the Burrow couldn't have been colder. To Harry, it felt _wrong_ – the Burrow had always been like a home to him, and this only compounded the falseness of what he was seeing.

"Sit down, Harry." Hermione commanded in a heart-wrenchingly familiar tone of bossiness. Dumbly, Harry sat down on the sofa, across from his two friends. Hermione sighed, before meeting Harry's eyes.

"We both know you thought you were doing the right thing, Harry." Hermione said in a voice that made Harry think they believed exactly the opposite. "But in your crusade, you forgot about us. Your _best friends._ " She continued sadly. "Tell me, did you ever think we might not be able to follow you forever?" She asked, her brown eyes boring into Harry's.

 _Why are they talking like they're still here? They're dead, and they won't come back._

"Follow? You _were_ my friends, we faced everything together." Harry responded, not sure why he continued to talk with the two across from him, now fully aware that this scenario was probably going to go the same way as the last two.

"No, Harry." Ron bluntly stated, not recognising Harry's use of past tense. "Sure, we work together, for the most part. But when it all comes to a head, you're always alone, and we always follow in your wake, picking up the pieces."

"What we're saying, Harry," Hermione leapt in, "is that we don't want to be that, anymore. We don't want to follow your trail of devastation towards Voldemort long enough that we fall to it. It was never even supposed to be _our_ fight. This all ends with you and him, and no one else. We _quit._ " Both standing up, the two shot one last, piteous look at Harry, who simply stared straight ahead, before linking hands and walking out of the room, the front door of the Burrow closing shut a moment later.

 _…I didn't forget about them, did I?..._ A small voice echoed in the back of Harry's mind.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry darted up from the sofa and sprinted towards the front door, only to find it wouldn't budge, leaving him trapped inside. He watched Ron and Hermione walking away down the lawn before disappearing with a _crack_ , not looking back once.

"No! Wait!" Harry yelled, hammering on the window even as it registered in his mind that they were gone, for good this time. Once more trying the door, Harry broke down, starting to sob when it wouldn't move an inch.

 _Don't leave…_

"What is this place!?" He suddenly shouted upwards at the ceiling, the deathly quiet of the deserted house giving him no retort. "I know this isn't real! Let me wake up!" He yelled.

Suddenly, a crackling noise reached Harry's ears. Looking towards the source of the noise, he noticed that the birds had stopped chirping, and the wind rushed through the fields and trees, dry and hot.

 _Wait a second…_

It wasn't the wind that was hot, Harry realised as he saw the golden orange of an ember fly past his head through the open window. It was fire. The Burrow was on _fire._

And he couldn't leave.

Running back to the door, Harry started throwing his weight against it, not even noticing that the whole front garden was ablaze with towering flames, the heat already searing his skin as the inferno wrapped around the front wall of the house. Roaring unintelligibly, Harry started throwing furniture at the door and windows in an attempt to escape, only to see them bounce off without making a single scratch. The flames had reached the back of the Burrow by now, and the house began to creak under its own weight. The front door crackled and imploded, flames rushing hungrily into the kitchen, devouring everything in sight. Retreating up the stairs, Harry could only watch as the ground floor of the Burrow was consumed by raging fire, the acrid smoke that billowed upwards making him choke and his eyes water.

Climbing ever higher, Harry found himself in the attic of the house, a small, solitary window giving him a view over the flaming countryside. Massive tides of fire swept over the hills for miles, the smoke blocking out the sun. Harry turned around to see that the attic door was already crackling, flames tearing it out of its frame as they rushed into the room.

Thankfully, Harry didn't have to wait to be burned alive. As the wall of blazing fire tore towards him, the floor collapsed from under his feet, and Harry felt the sudden, awful weightlessness of falling before everything went black once more.

* * *

A rush of heat threw Harry to the ground, where he landed painfully on something jagged and uneven. Opening his eyes, he saw the darkened silhouette of a burning structure, leaking embers out into the freezing night air. With a growing sense of dread, he remembered where he'd seen this before.

 _No… not here… please…_

He looked around the destroyed courtyard from his position on a pile of rubble, and saw a scene of utter, appalling devastation.

As the ruined carcass of Hogwarts blazed above him, mixed amongst the piles of debris and magical craters of the courtyard were hundreds of human bodies.

Some were visible and recognisable as students, teachers or members of the Order, others were mostly buried under masonry, leaving only a limb or a hand sticking out, pale and bloodless. Others still were left in a sickening state, as burned, twisted skeletons or bloody chunks of flesh and entrails. The smell of ozone and the coppery taste of blood were thick in the air, making Harry choke as he clambered to his feet.

Looking around, he saw nothing but death. The battle was over, and he'd lost.

Gathering what was left of his strength, he began to stumble through the courtyard, tripping over rocks and the bodies of people he knew from school. His breathing came faster and faster, his vision tunnelling as he stumbled towards what was left of the covered bridge that ran along to the far side of the valley. Walking along, his feet making the blackened, damaged floorboards creak ominously, Harry gasped as he spotted the outline of one person, standing at the edge of where the bridge had been broken, looking out over the dark treetops below.

 _Not her… not again…_

Ginny Weasley's fiery red hair glinted brightly under the light of the inferno that was consuming the castle. She stood, relaxed, staring over the edge of the broken bridge when she spoke up at Harry's footsteps, his chest constricting painfully at the sound of her voice.

"Hello, love," she said quietly, without turning around to face him. "Are you surprised to see me?" She asked.

"I… Gin…" Harry couldn't make the words he wanted to say come out at all, so he took an uneasy breath and settled for answering her question instead. "…No, I don't think so," he replied, slowly.

"That's good," Ginny stated, and Harry could tell that she was smiling one of her small, private smiles that she reserved for when they were alone together. "It means that you're finally facing it." She murmured quietly.

"Facing what?" Harry asked, more confused now than he'd been during any of his previous encounters.

Ginny turned, and before he knew it Harry was hungrily drinking in her features, his heart thumping in his ears. From the small freckles that ran over her cheeks to her chocolate-brown eyes, the delicate smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth and the fullness of her lips, every characteristic that made Ginny… Ginny, was exactly how he had remembered it. Seeing it all again in front of him was much better, and much more painful, than just remembering, however.

"Facing yourself." Ginny responded, her cryptic words belied the surety of her tone. Smiling again and meeting Harry's eyes, she leaned in and kissed him tenderly.

Harry was disarmed by the suddenness of her affections, and froze up a moment, before melting into the kiss, returning it with an urgency he hadn't felt in a long time. For a minute, the two simply stood entwined, the devastation around them all but forgotten.

When they broke the kiss, Harry saw in Ginny's eyes the same blazing look that they always had when she was passionate or angry, and he nearly leaned in again, surprised when Ginny's finger laying gently on his lips stopped him. Smiling a small, sad smile, Ginny took Harry's hand in hers and he held tight, suddenly terrified that she might let go. Turning away from the bridge, she gently pulled him along, back towards the awful scene at the courtyard.

Walking amongst the rubble and bodies, they found themselves standing in the centre of it all, looking up at the ruined castle.

"You know, I think it's beautiful, in its own way," Ginny remarked quietly. Harry, who hadn't noticed that he was staring at the subtle contours of Ginny's lips turned and looked up. And, now that she'd mentioned it, he realised that she was right. It _was_ beautiful. The way that the embers danced higher and higher, the golden light eventually fizzling out before the coldness of the stars, made his eyes shimmer with tears.

Ginny squeezed his hand lightly, like she always did when she had wanted his attention. Harry turned to see, shocked, that she was crying too. Streams of tears trickled slowly down her cheeks, dripping off of her chin and down towards the rubble-strewn cobblestones.

"Harry, this isn't real." She stated suddenly, the directness of her words cutting through his distracted mood.

"Gin…" Harry murmured, fear gripping his chest tightly, "…is it bad that a part of me wants this to be?" The question came out as an ashamed whisper. Ginny let out a chuckle, and smiled her small smile.

"No… and yes," she responded, her candour shocking Harry for a moment. "You're here, in this moment, because this is what you see, whenever you think of me."

Harry was stunned. Leaving him struggling to form a coherent sentence, Ginny continued, not giving him the opportunity to reply. "This courtyard, Harry, is a lot like _you._ " Harry could only stare, dumbstruck. "Empty and broken. A shadow of its former self, still standing after the war has ended. I died on this spot, Harry." She said quietly, her hair gently fluttering in a breeze that had picked up out of nowhere.

"You didn't kill me, but if this is all you can see when you think of my face, you as good as died too. You, Harry, aren't the man I fell in love with." Suddenly, Ginny slumped against him, Harry struggling to both keep his footing and hold her against him, wrapping his one arm around her as tightly as he could. He was shocked to feel something hot and wet against his hand, and as his feet slipped out from under him, sending them both crashing to the ground, he noticed the dark stain that ran down the front of Ginny's blouse.

 _No… oh God no… no, no, nonono…_

Rising to his knees, and gently propping Ginny's head on his lap, he lifted his arm, which all of a sudden seemed heavy and sluggish, and delicately pushed a strand of hair out of her face, the coating of wet blood on his hand leaving a small smear on her cheek. As he sat, staring down at the peaceful, lifeless face of his love, his heart broke anew, the old wounds on his soul tearing open, raw and devastating.

And Harry Potter wept.

* * *

Dobby could only watch, tears running down his cheeks as Harry writhed and yelled, pinned down to the couch in his dungeon hideout by strands of shimmering golden magic. He had been like this for hours, unresponsive and delusional from the moment Dobby had appeared at the gates of Malfoy Manor, answering his friend's call for help.

The second that he'd seen the Locket, the powerful dark object clenched in Harry's hand, the little elf had guessed what would soon follow. Grabbing Harry's prone form and Apparating him to the dungeon, he had tied Harry down and began trying to save his life, the elf weaving his small hands in complicated motions as colourful waves of magic wrapped around Harry's body, fighting the Dark Lord's curse. It had taken a precious few minutes to break the advanced charms on the Locket and magically pull it from Harry's grip, and the damage to his body was severe.

With the magical flames extinguished and the source of the curse removed, Dobby sat by Harry's side, gently sponging his friend's feverish skin with a damp cloth as the screams died down to whimpers.

"…no, no please, don't leave me…" Harry murmured hoarsely in his unconscious state. Dobby could only wait for the delusions to break, and was heartbroken by what he was hearing. It was then, as he listened to Harry's deranged begging, that he realised something:

Although Harry Potter was breathing, walking and talking, he hadn't been truly _alive_ in a long time. It just took this awful curse to make Dobby see it, and when he did, the tears flowed harder as the little elf's body was wracked with sobs.

After another hour or so, Harry eventually calmed, falling into a deep sleep. Straightening up, Dobby looked sadly at his sleeping friend, renewing the protective and calming spells he had cast over him, and disappearing with a _crack_. He knew what he had to do, now. Returning to his hideout, the elf gathered his research materials, before starting the translation process for the time-travel spell, his mouth held in a grim, determined line.


	7. A Road Once Travelled, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter** **, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again, everyone! Sorry it's been a good few days since the last update, I've been a bit busy this week with my graduation from uni - took them long enough to have it, I finished in June! Now that it's out of the way though, I've had more time to work on I'll Keep Coming, and so proudly present, chapter seven!**

 **On another note, three days ago (November 24th) this story hit 50 followers! I still can't quite believe that so many of you like my work, it's really encouraging, so thank you all, and please, enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry blearily opened his eyes. He tried to move his head, but the energy just wouldn't come. Breathing shakily, his throat sore and scratchy, he recognised that he was lying on his couch in the dungeon, and that he was alone. Concentrating, he tried to recall what he'd seen. The only thing that would come to him was-

 _Ginny._

Even as he remembered her face, the way that her hair gleamed in the light of the flames, the memories of their discussion came flooding back with shocking clarity.

Lying limply on his couch, Harry couldn't even move as tears ran down his face, awful, choking sobs wracking his body with pain.

For what felt like hours, Harry lay there crying quietly, until he had no more tears left to shed. Drawing in a shuddering breath, he thought back to before his meeting with Ginny, and how he had ended up here. A hazy memory flashed in his mind: pain, fire, and-

"…Dobby…" Harry whispered hoarsely.

With a sharp _crack_ , the elf appeared in front of Harry, concern in his tennis-ball-sized eyes.

"Harry is awake?" Dobby asked tentatively, which Harry confirmed with a quick blink, unable to manage a more strenuous movement.

"…Where'm I?" Harry rasped quietly. Dobby clicked his fingers, summoning a glass of cool water which he began to pour carefully into Harry's mouth, Harry slurping it loudly as he drank.

"Harry Potter is back in his dungeon, sir," Dobby said quickly. "Dobby heard Harry's call at bad master's house and brought him here. Harry Potter has been unconscious for nearly fourteen hours, sir."

Harry's eyes went wide at the mention of the Manor, and in an instant, the memories of the night before came rushing back to him, how he'd faced Lucius Malfoy and tried to flee from Voldemort, taking the-

"…Locket…" Harry whispered, his throat hurting a little less after the drink. Dobby nodded at the unspoken question, waving his hand and bringing the Horcrux floating over to the couch, holding it in the air over Harry's face so he could see it. Harry remembered the magical shock of touching the Locket, and mentally berated himself for being careless enough to grab it in his hand. At the thought of his hand, and how it had looked when he was feeling the Manor, he looked back at Dobby, panic in his eyes. "…Curse…" he groaned, the words difficult to form.

Dobby's face fell, and his eyes brimmed with tears. He looked at Harry in despair as he responded.

"Dobby tried, Harry Potter, sir. Tried his hardest to stop the curse." The elf's body was shaking as he pulled on his large ears dejectedly. "Dobby managed to get the Locket out of Harry Potter's hand, sir, but the curse was dark, _evil_ magic, and Dobby could not reverse it."

Harry's eyes widened at the implications, and he tried to turn his head and examine his arm, his breath coming shallow and fast. Dobby saw his efforts, and cradled Harry's arm in his, lifting it gently so that Harry could see what had happened. Harry could only stare, shocked and disbelieving at what he saw.

Where before there had been plain – if weathered – skin, there was now blackened, dead flesh. Harry's one remaining arm was ruined, the hand skeletal and withered. Angry burns ran up the arm to his shoulder, where they then turned and pointed toward his chest. Dobby clicked his fingers again, and a plump feather pillow inserted itself beneath Harry's head, lifting it so that he could examine his body. The veins above his heart stood out, a sickening black against the pale skin of his chest. Bandages were wrapped around his splinted leg, and what was left of his fatigues (large parts had been torn away to expose the wounds) were coated in brick dust and dark patches of dried blood.

Harry's stomach dropped as he examined himself.

 _No, this can't be true. I can't die yet!_ A voice screamed in his head. _Why not?_ Another, quieter voice stated. _You remember what Ginny said, don't you?_

Even as the debate raged in his head, a strange feeling of calm was descending on Harry. His heart beat slowed and strengthened, and he felt the bizarre sensation of a weight being lifted from his shoulders.

"Dobby is so sorry, Harry Potter, sir." Dobby was weeping in earnest now, his mournful cries more painful to Harry than the throbbing in his chest. "Harry trusted Dobby, and Dobby _failed!_ " Throwing himself to the floor, Dobby began sobbing hysterically.

"…S'alright, Dobby…" he whispered quietly, "…you did your best." The elf looked up at Harry, his eyes red, sniffling. Harry stared back as warmly as he could, his mouth twitching a little into a lopsided smile. The elf took a deep breath, before breaking out into a small, sad smile. Standing up, he clicked his fingers again, and Harry's couch was transformed into a comfortable four-poster bed that was startlingly similar to his old one from Gryffindor Tower, Harry's ruined fatigues changed into comfortable pyjamas. Gently rolling Harry onto his side, Dobby began to change the dressings on Harry's wounded back. The position was good for Harry too, so that Dobby wouldn't see the tears that ran gently down his face, dampening the pillow beneath.

 _I'm sorry, everyone. I've failed._

After the elf was done, he sat Harry up in the bed, feeding him another glass of water.

"Dobby, can you fetch my album for me?" Harry asked quietly, his voice recovering quickly under Dobby's ministrations.

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir." Dobby replied kindly, hopping off of the bed and getting the weathered book from the table. Climbing back onto the bed, he set it down in Harry's lap, and after a nod from Harry, opened it up to the first page, the smiling faces of Lily and James beaming up at their dying son.

"Thanks, Dobby," Harry choked out, his eyes wet. "Can you stay here with me, and turn the pages? I can't do it alone," he asked sadly. Dobby nodded, and at Harry's prompt turned to the next page, and the next, and the next.

For a few hours, they simply sat like this, Harry staring fondly down at the faces of his friends and family, crying gently. Dobby held Harry's ruined hand in his, and continued to turn the pages of the book. The gesture of affection wasn't lost on Harry, who seemed to take a little strength from the closeness of his last friend.

Many minutes later, they finally reached the last page of the book, in the centre of which sat a single picture.

Taken sometime during Harry's sixth year, the candid photograph showed Harry sat on one of the sofas in the Gryffindor Common Room, next to a girl with fiery red hair. The smile on Ginny's face was wide and affectionate, and she shuddered with laughter from some bad joke that Harry had told.

Sitting on the bed, Harry stared down at perhaps his most prized photograph of all, and smiled sadly. Gesturing to Dobby, the elf closed the book with a small thump, returning it to the table a moment later.

Turning his head to the elf, Harry fixed Dobby with an affectionate smile. "Thank you, Dobby." He said quietly.

"Dobby has always been there for Harry Potter, sir." The elf replied. Harry sighed, knowing what he had to say.

"Dobby…" he began, "…I'll be dead in a few days. You've always been there, even after everyone else was gone. I… thank you, Dobby. For everything. And," Harry paused, trying to find the words, "I'm so, so sorry. I've failed, and I'm sorry that I'm leaving you behind, in this awful place." Harry's sentence trailed off, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks.

To his surprise, Dobby suddenly smiled at Harry toothily.

"Er… Harry Potter, sir," Dobby responded unsurely. "Dobby might be able to help." Harry's heart thudded loudly in his chest, his fatigue receding as energy flooded into his limbs. He felt alert, focused.

"What did you say?" Harry asked, his mouth dry.

"Dobby said that he might be able to help Harry Potter, sir." Dobby replied, now not meeting Harry's eyes. "Dobby cannot cure Harry Potter's curse, but Dobby might be able to stop it having happened at all."

"What do you…" Harry trailed off as realisation hit him like a freight train. "Dobby," He continued slowly, "are you saying that you can turn back time?" He didn't dare hope that he was right.

The elf clicked his fingers, a dusty, worn tome appeared in his hand. "Dobby cannot, sir," Harry's face fell, before the elf continued. "But Dobby may have discovered a way that Harry Potter can." The elf took a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself. "Dobby is… sorry for keeping this from Harry Potter, sir, but Dobby has been researching time-travel for some months now."

Harry was shocked, suddenly feeling apprehensive and suspicious. Had Dobby already predicted that he wouldn't be able to stop Voldemort? Harry let the thought sit uneasily at the back of his mind, unable to confront the elf about it, not after saving his life. One other question, however, reverberated and repeated inside his head. Harry couldn't help but ask, the trepidation in his voice palpable.

"Dobby, why didn't you ever tell me this before?"

The elf looked incredibly guilty at that, his eyes once more brimming with tears. "Well, Harry Potter, sir, the ritual Dobby has discovered involves sending the soul of a wizard back through time to their past self. It is… dangerous, Harry Potter, sir, and there is great risk of failure, and… death. Dobby did not want Harry Potter to perform it unless there were no other choice, sir." Dobby buried his head in his hands, and mumbled, "Dobby hopes Harry Potter understands."

"I'm dead already, Dobby, it looks like my only other choice is to wait for this curse to finish me off." Harry replied bluntly. "I don't have much time left – do you think we can give it a shot?" As if on cue, an agonising spike of pain washed over Harry's chest, making him groan and grit his teeth.

"Dobby thinks so, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby has already translated the spell required." Dobby stated quickly, nodding vigorously. "Our first task is to decide to _when_ we send Harry Potter's soul."

Harry bit his lip in concentration, closing his eyes and trying to think of where his return would be most useful. Already, wild theories were forming in his mind about how he could stop Voldemort early, and prevent the deaths of everyone he loved.

 _When? No point going back before school, I can't get anything done if I'm ten years old. First year? No, too many variables. Second? Maybe – Voldemort didn't get much done that year, did he? I could change the whole mess with the Chamber and Diary too…_

Harry looked over to Dobby, and voiced a question that formed during his internal debate. "Dobby, do you know what might happen once I'm back in time, and I change something important?"

Dobby opened the book in his hands, delicately turning the old, stained pages until he found what he was looking for. Reading aloud, he quoted the author. "It says here, Harry Potter, sir, that 'in my studies, I have deduced that the most important rule of time-travel is thus: If one can predict, one can pre-empt. Know that the greater the change made, the more diverse and unpredictable shall be the consequences, eliminating the advantage of foreknowledge.'"

Considering the statement for a moment, Harry started thinking out loud. "So, if I were to stop the Chamber of Secrets incident from happening at all, what you're saying is that the future might change from what happened the last time, too?" Dobby nodded. "Damn, then that rules out second year. If I change everything then, I won't be able to know what happens after."

"Plus, if the events of Harry Potter's second year are prevented, then Dobby will not have been freed from the bad master." Dobby added, a cheeky smile on his face. Harry grinned in response.

"Of course, that too, Dobby." Falling silent in concentration again, he considered his options.

 _Third year?_ He asked himself, the answer suddenly appearing in his mind, clear as day.

 _I could save Sirius, and get him exonerated._

 _I could stop Pettigrew._

 _No Pettigrew, no resurrection. Those consequences sound pretty good so far._

"I've got it, Dobby!" Harry exclaimed. "Can you send me back to the summer before my third year at Hogwarts?"

The elf clicked his fingers again, this time consulting a piece of parchment that materialised in his waiting hands. After a moment or two, he looked up at Harry, and nodded with a smile.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir. Dobby thinks he can do that."

Harry's smile widened, the feeling of hope expanding in his chest.

"What do we need to do?" He asked, a spike of pain from the curse making him gasp suddenly. Dobby frowned, concern evident on his face. Harry waved him off, his arm shaking with the effort required for even such a simple movement. "I'm going to be in pain from here on out, Dobby – can you tell me what we need to do?" He repeated. The elf took a deep breath, looking uneasy as he flicked through the book until he found the pages he needed. "Well, Harry Potter, sir, we need to begin by drawing this ritual circle…"

* * *

It had taken the better part of six hours to prepare the necessary components for the spell, throughout which Harry's condition was quickly deteriorating. After the first hour, the pain had become a constant, agonising throb, in time with his pulse. After the third, he was sweating feverishly, and his temperature fluctuated badly. At the turn of the sixth hour, he was coughing blood.

He'd wanted to bury Fred and George's wands on the hill outside, but as his own, faithful holly wand was damaged beyond repair, he required one of their wands for the ritual. A small voice in Harry's head chuckled at the poetic justice: he was using the wand of one of Hogwarts' greatest pranksters, in order to cast a spell that was, from one perspective anyway, a prank on the entire universe – although the stakes here were much, much higher than house points or detentions if he failed.

Dobby had explained the spell in detail whilst he set up the ritual circle required, spreading salt in a wide arc and carving complicated runes into the dungeon floor with streams of golden magic. Once the circle was prepared, Harry would have to activate the runes with his own blood, repeating the spell's incantation, **_Chronos Reditum Anima_** , until a dome of magical energy formed around him. The dome would bind him to the circle, and the spell would have to be completed or he'd die. At the right moment – detectable through a dilution of time outside of the circle – Harry would have to perform the spell's wand movement and incantation, putting as much power into it as possible.

If this was done right, the soul would be severed from the body and cast back through time to the destination that Harry wished, as long as he was focused on that moment when he cast the spell.

The author hadn't written what might happen if this wasn't adhered to, which unnerved Harry slightly. But, he thought, what choice did he have?

Therefore, the stroke of midnight saw Harry kneeling in the centre of the ritual circle, George Weasley's wand already gripped in his skeletal hand as hard as he could manage with his diminished strength. With no other hand available to hold the silver knife Dobby had conjured for the blood runes, the elf was left standing uneasily outside the circle, levitating the knife in front of Harry's chest with magic.

Turning to Dobby and giving a small nod, the elf lowered the knife to the pale, sickly-looking skin of Harry's chest, before making a quick, deep cut. Harry grunted at the pain, coughing slightly as he fought down a convulsion from the curse. Dobby levitated the knife over the first rune, droplets of Harry's blood falling lazily into the engraving. Harry murmured the incantation, and the rune suddenly let out a pulse of magic, glowing white. Letting out a small sigh of relief, Harry gave Dobby what he hoped was an encouraging smile, his eyes vibrant, contrasting against the pallor of his skin.

The spell was underway.

Harry continued the process, muttering the incantation almost constantly as Dobby helped draw the blood needed to activate the runes. Unfortunately, Harry's strength was waning. By the time the runes were fully activated, and the dome of bright magical light thrummed over Harry's head, he was shaking with fatigue, slumping in his position on his knees and sweating profusely. Harry felt himself begin to black out.

 _Need… finish… spell…_

"Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby called out, his voice sounding distorted and oddly distant from outside the circle. "The resonance is approaching!" Seeing Harry about to lose consciousness, the elf shot a small bolt of electricity towards Harry, the shock making him jump, his eyes snapping open again.

Even as Harry turned his head wearily to thank Dobby, he realised that everything outside of the dome looked… odd. The elf's mouth was moving, but slowly – too slowly to be talking, surely? Suddenly, Harry processed what Dobby had yelled to him, and he struggled to raise his ruined arm high enough to hold the wand in front of him.

The dome crackled with energy, and Harry's hair began to stand on end, as if he'd received a static shock. Gasping at the pain of the movement, Harry managed to point the wand in front of him, right at the wall of the dome – which at this point was glowing a blinding, brilliant white. Grunting with the effort of holding his arm up, Harry took a deep, shuddering breath, before roaring the incantation as loud as he could.

" ** _CHRONOS REDITUM ANIMA!_** "

Focusing his thoughts on the moment he wanted to return to, trying to recall his small bedroom at Privet Drive, the week before Aunt Marge's visit all those years ago, Harry suddenly felt a tug around his navel, not entirely unlike a Portkey. Surprise turned to shock as the sensation shifted from mild discomfort to sudden, unbearable pain, pain so bad that Harry couldn't even scream before convulsions wracked his body, collapsing in the centre of the circle as his soul was torn away.

* * *

Harry had the vague feeling of… motion, and of leaving something behind. Something evil, that had lingered like a shadow, was being torn from him even as he realised that he had never noticed it before. As everything began to fade away, he was aware of a single recollection. Blood, dust, and fiery red hair, fluttering in the wind like the rippling of a lake.

A moment later, Harry Potter ceased to be, his lifeless corpse flopping back down into the ritual circle with a _thump_ , the skin smoking slightly.


	8. A Road Once Travelled, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **My momentum carried over from the last update, so I finished earlier than expected! Here's chapter eight, in all of its time-travelling glory.**

 **Once again, I'd like to thank all of you readers, as well as everyone who has been following and favouriting this story - It means a _great_ deal to me.**

 **Also, I'm glad that my interpretation of the time-travel trope has so far been quite well-received, in some of the most recent reviews I've had some wonderfully encouraging words from you guys about where this is all headed so far, so thank you all!**

 **Please, enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry felt like he was suffocating, as his eyes flew open in a panic. Drawing in a gasping breath and trying not to vomit, he fell back on his bed.

 _Wait, bed?_

Looking up, he found staring at neatly-painted white ceiling. Having spent many hours in his teenage years staring up at a similar ceiling when he couldn't sleep, it finally clicked in Harry's mind. It was the _same_ ceiling. In fact, it was none other than the ceiling of Harry's room at Number Four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Pinching himself, _hard_ , Harry fought off the notion that this was a dream. Running a hand through his messy black hair, he suddenly stopped, his eyes wide.

Turning his head, he looked at his right shoulder. Sure enough, connected to his shoulder was his right arm, definitely _not_ missing, exactly where it was supposed to be, and – to be honest – a little on the scrawny side.

A bubble of mad, giddy happiness formed in Harry's chest, and before he knew it, he was chuckling quietly. A moment later, the chuckle turned to snicker, which evolved into a deep, hearty laugh that he felt all the way down in his gut. Relieved tears ran down his face as Harry writhed in manic joy, equal parts stunned and elated that he was alive.

 _You did it, Dobby._

Sobering at the thought of the elf, and the events of what felt to Harry to have been the previous night, he decided to double-check that everything had worked. Standing up quickly and walking over to the slightly wonky wardrobe, Harry checked his appearance in the mirror on the inside of the door and was briefly shocked to see his slightly spotty teenaged face looking back, open mouthed. Mastering his surprise, Harry turned at sat down on the bed, his legs a little unsteady.

He checked the calendar pinned to his wall, and found out it was July 29th, 1993 – two days before his thirteenth birthday.

The ritual had been a complete success. He'd travelled back in time.

He had one more shot at this.

Thinking back to the ritual, Harry questioned the sensations he felt when his soul was removed – those moments already falling into an imprecise haze, Harry had the vague recollection of something being separated from him, but he wasn't sure what.

 _Was that some part of the ritual?_ A cautious voice asked in his head. _Does it matter?_ A louder, more confident one replied. _The ritual worked, didn't it?_

Nodding to himself at the conclusion to his internal debate, Harry grabbed a piece of paper from the pile he kept stashed away in his desk drawers. Digging a battered pen out as well, Harry laid the paper beneath his bedside lamp before starting to make notes on everything he could remember about third year at Hogwarts. The next few hours passed quite quickly for Harry, who struggled to recall as many details as possible.

If his plan was to work, he needed information. He couldn't afford to be surprised by anything that had happened last time.

As the sun began to dip low into the horizon, flooding the bedroom with an orange glow and glinting off of the metal of Hedwig's empty cage, Harry finished up his notes. He'd heard the Dursleys moving about the house throughout the evening, particularly after Uncle Vernon got back from work, but he hadn't yet left his room. Aunt Marge should visit in a couple of days, and – with any luck – Harry could hopefully get Vernon to sign his Hogsmeade permission form _before_ she arrived. Once he received the form from Hogwarts, that is.

Harry's stomach rumbled, reminding him all of sudden that he hadn't yet had anything to eat since he got back. Just as he stood – hiding his notes in his pillowcase for the time being – a small voice spoke up in Harry's head.

 _Of course,_ _ **what**_ _about Sirius? He found me after I ran from the house._

Harry paused, his hand on the door handle, a frown on his face.

 _He sought me out before he headed north, didn't he? What happens if I'm not there?_

Swearing under his breath, Harry returned to his notes, taking a fresh page and trying to wrap his head around the potential consequences of not being at Magnolia Crescent at the right time. His contemplations continued until well after the sun had set, Harry stubbornly ignoring his hunger as he worked.

In the end, however, it proved fruitless – there were simply _too many variables._ Sirius' detour to find Harry had interrupted his godfather's passage towards Hogwarts. If Sirius arrived in Scotland later than last time, it might take him longer to get to Pettigrew and therefore the events at the end of the year could happen completely differently, which Harry knew wasn't an option.

This left Harry with no real choice except to make sure he was at Magnolia Crescent so that Sirius could see him, which in turn meant that Harry might in turn have to stay for Aunt Marge's visit, something that he'd been hoping to avoid.

Mentally cursing the complicated nature of time-travel, Harry abruptly stood to his feet, deciding to get some food and go for a walk. He needed to focus.

Creeping through the house as quietly as he could manage, Harry grabbed a slice of chocolate cake from one of the shelves in the fridge, wolfing it down quickly in the darkened kitchen. After cleaning up and covering his tracks, Harry went to open the front door when he stopped, suddenly feeling the absence of his wand. He mentally admonished himself for not remembering – Uncle Vernon had always locked up his school things when he was home for the summer. He couldn't believe he was about to leave unarmed, and turned back the cupboard under the stairs, crouching down and examining the lock on the door.

* * *

 _Harry was relaxing on one of the sofas in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place, deeply engrossed in a book when a spell shot past his ear, the magic burning the skin slightly as it passed before destroying a rather ugly vase that had sat on the mantelpiece for as long as he could remember._

 _Reacting on instinct, Harry rolled off of the couch, reaching for his wand to fight off the attacker, only to realise with dawning horror that it wasn't in the pocket of his jeans, where he normally kept it._

 _He barely had a moment to rally himself, however, as another spell slammed into the floorboards which Harry had leapt away from a split-second earlier. Diving back over the couch to put something between himself and the doorway, where the spells had come from, Harry started looking around desperately for something he could use to protect himself. Spotting a shard of pottery from the vase nearby, Harry grabbed it, clenching the jagged porcelain tightly in his hand, and tried to listen for the attacker's footsteps._

 _Unfortunately for Harry, his mystery assailant wasn't an idiot, and simply banished the sofa whilst Harry was still behind it, throwing him headfirst into the wall, a sudden spike of pain being the last thing he felt before he was knocked out cold._

 _"_ _ **Rennervate.**_ _" A voice rasped, and Harry roused from unconsciousness to see the familiar, grizzled face of Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody looking down at him._

 _"What did we learn, Potter?" Moody asked impatiently._

 _Harry couldn't resist the chance to annoy the old Auror, and decided to respond cheekily. "Not to leave the door open when there's an irate, paranoid cripple in the house?"_

 _Moody didn't appreciate Harry's sarcasm, and shot a quick Stinging Hex at the teenager, who yelped in pain. "You're careless, Potter!" He remarked loudly, his disfigured mouth curled into a grimace. "If I were a Death Eater, you'd be too busy being dead to make stupid quips."_

 _Feeling more than a little annoyed at Moody's attack and the large lump that was rising on his forehead because of it, Harry continued to rile the wizard crouched over him. "Well then, it's a good thing you aren't. Although, I suppose, even if you wanted to be a Death Eater, I doubt they'd let someone as ugly as you in," he replied as he grinned up at Moody._

 _Suddenly, Mad-Eye chuckled, offering his hand as he stood up. "Good one, Potter. We'll make a proper bastard out of you yet." Taking Moody's hand, Harry was hauled to his feet, before the Auror swept his wand in a wide motion, repairing the somewhat considerable damage to the drawing room's furniture. Turning back to Harry, Moody holstered his wand and motioned for Harry to sit back down on the newly-repaired sofa. Sitting across from him, Mad-Eye looked at the teenager for a moment._

 _"Right, Potter, I'll condense the usual lecture into one lesson simple enough for someone even as idiotic as you to understand." Harry grinned at the jibe. "_ _ **Never be without your wand.**_ _" Moody stated, both his normal and magical eye boring into Harry's. "And I mean,_ _ **never.**_ _Even if you're naked, you'd better have your wand. Understood?" Harry rapidly nodded his assent._

 _"Also, I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on you like that, Potter. You can never pay too much attention to your surroundings._ _ **CONSTANT VIGILANCE!**_ _" He barked suddenly, making Harry jump despite how much he'd come to expect Mad-Eye's catchphrase. Grinning grotesquely, Moody winked at Harry before walking from the room, his leg clunking loudly all the way, only serving to make Harry feel even more idiotic for not noticing._

 _Barely a minute after the Auror had left, Sirius loped into the room, a cheeky smile on his face. Harry waited for his godfather to speak, to make some joke about Moody's attack, but instead Sirius drew his wand, painstakingly slowly, from his pocket, his eyes dancing with humour as he started snickering. Harry leapt to his feet._

 _"Sirius, don't you_ _ **dare-**_ _" he started, even as his godfather fired a spell at Harry's chest, forcing the teenager to leap gracelessly out of the way, swearing loudly. Sirius roared with laughter, continuing his onslaught of hexes and jinxes as Harry shoved him out of the doorway and charged up the stairs to his room, yelling threats of retribution over his shoulder._

* * *

Harry had finished looking over the lock for the cupboard – it was basic, and wouldn't be too hard to pick open, particularly since Fred and George had taught him a few tricks before they disappeared. Tiptoeing through to the kitchen, Harry opened one of the small drawers that Aunt Petunia filled with miscellaneous things – tape, string, and _paperclips._ Taking a small handful of paperclips from the drawer, Harry went back to the cupboard and began bending the small piece of metal into the shape he needed, before inserting into the lock and trying to open the door.

Ten minutes and several failed attempts later, the door popped open with a _click_ , swinging out into the hallway. Harry grinned to himself, and collected up the rest of the paperclips before putting them back, and disposing of all the ruined ones. Grabbing his trunk, he hauled it upstairs as quietly as he could manage, and in a few minutes had it secured in his room. Heading back down, he was about to close up the cupboard when he spotted something – something he hadn't thought about in years.

His first broomstick, his trusty Nimbus 2000, was propped invitingly against the wall.

Harry grabbed it, and after closing the cupboard crept back up to his room, placing the broomstick on the bed with reverence. Running his hand over the smooth wood, Harry remembered the wonderful sensations that accompanied his first flying lesson many years ago, and his first Quidditch game on the Nimbus. He could almost feel the wind rushing past his face, chasing after the Golden Snitch as he soared across the pitch, the roar of the crowd as he held it up high, the elation of victory.

 _Why not?_ A small voice answered the unspoken question in Harry's mind.

Slowly, a feral grin spread over his face as he turned to his trunk. Opening it up, he grabbed his Invisibility Cloak, as well as his wand, relishing in the warmth that shot up his arm as he gripped the wood in his hand, the energy that flooded into his limbs burning away the tiredness that he'd been ignoring all night. Holstering his wand in his pocket, throwing on a thick jumper and draping the cloak over his head, Harry hid his trunk in the bottom of his cupboard before picking up the Nimbus and sneaking back downstairs, his plans for a walk in the neighbourhood forgotten.

Opening the front door silently and stepping out into the street, Harry quickly breathed in the fresh air, feeling the light breeze through the cloak. Mounting the broom, Harry looked up at the clear night sky, gripped the Nimbus tightly in his hands, and kicked off.

* * *

The wind tore past his cheeks as he rocketed upwards, the streets of Little Whinging spreading out into the distance like a spider web of lights as he soared higher and higher. Basked in the bright moonlight, Harry turned the broom, and started putting it through its paces. He flew through the air, pulling loops and tricks, shooting upwards and then diving out of the sky, revelling in the feeling.

For over an hour he simply flew, carefree and for just a little while, happy. Up here, the fear, the nightmares – the _mission_ – couldn't find him. Harry whooped with joy, free once more. He chased imaginary Snitches across the night sky as he laughed, the sensation washing over him like a balm for his wounded soul.

Unfortunately, Harry knew he had to come back down eventually, particularly so after he noticed the worsening cramp in his hands from the cold. Gently guiding the Nimbus downwards, Harry lazily flew back to Privet Drive, landing safely in the small patch of trees at the end of the road, before walking back under the Invisibility Cloak. After letting himself in, Harry carefully ascended the stairs and returned to his room, lying back on his bed without even getting changed. He was asleep before he'd even managed to take off his glasses.


	9. A Road Once Travelled, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone - work is progressing quickly at the moment, so here's chapter nine! Once again, I extend many thanks to everyone who has followed, favourited and left reviews so far - they're both encouraging, and very helpful!**

 **In the last three days, this story has racked up over 1,200 views, more than a quarter of its total - I am astonished and overjoyed that so many of you are taking the time to read it!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

 _Harry was in a forest, the trees stretching around him in every direction, roots and undergrowth coating the forest floor. He held his wand tightly – but awkwardly – in his left hand as he crept onwards._

 _The snapping of twigs to his right warned Harry of the attack, rolling quickly to the side as the red bolt of the_ _ **Cruciatus**_ _Curse flew past his head, bursting the trunk of a nearby tree into a shower of large splinters when it connected. Harry threw his wand out and started firing blasting curses in retort, the_ _ **cracking**_ _noise of the tree as it fell drowning out the impacts of Harry's spells. Even as the trunk landed with a loud_ _ **thump**_ _, another curse flew out of the trees behind Harry, missing him by a hair's breadth._

 _An insane cackle rang through the forest, sending a chill down Harry's spine._

 _"Well, well, if it isn't the Potter whelp," Bellatrix Lestrange taunted excitedly. "Got tired of hiding behind dear Sirius, have you?" Another spell came at Harry from the darkness, blasting a crater in the soil he had just been standing on. Diving behind a tree and rising to a crouch, Harry cast a quick wide-area detection spell to try and narrow down Bellatrix's location, to no avail. An idea popping into his head, he pointed his wand at the ground beneath him._

 _"_ _ **Irretio Effugium,**_ _" he whispered, the tell-tale pulse of magic signalling the success of his anti-Apparition Jinx._

 _Bellatrix laughed coldly in response to Harry's spell. "New tricks, boy? My cousin might have taught you a few things, but you're still no match for me!"_

 _Leaning out from his position behind cover, Harry scanned the trees for any movement. Seeing a flash of pale skin, Harry leapt from behind the tree trunk, sending jets of fire from his wand in an attempt to contain Bellatrix._

 _The Death Eater laughed madly as she stepped into the path of the flames, twisting her wand in a wide flourish, the fire suddenly folding on itself and rushing back towards Harry, who barely ducked out of the way in time. Thinking on his feet, Harry summoned a smokescreen, the thick clouds quickly spreading in every direction and hiding him from sight as he darted through the trees._

 _"You know," Bellatrix remarked casually, as if discussing the weather, "I'm actually a little disgusted that you're out here chasing after me,_ _ **Potter.**_ _" She spat out Harry's surname as if the very word repulsed her. "What's the matter, boy? Mudbloods and blood traitors not doing it for you anymore?"_

 _Harry, crouched behind the tree that Bellatrix's curse had felled earlier, ignored her taunt, pointing his wand at his neck and whispering "_ _ **Sonorus.**_ _" Taking a deep, steadying breath, he spoke._

 _"You know why I'm here, Lestrange. I want the Cup." Harry's magically-amplified voice echoed and deflected off of the trees, disguising his position._

 _Bellatrix's demeanour shifted in an instant. "I'll never give it to you, whelp!" She snarled, flinging a few spells through the trees as she darted to new cover._

 _Harry sighed, falling silent and listening for any movement. Suddenly, Bellatrix screamed an incantation Harry had never heard before, and a bolt of magical lightning arced thought the trees, hitting one near Harry and bursting it into flames. Harry broke cover as the flames seemed to leap from tree-to-tree, the blaze quickly growing into an inferno as it swallowed up more and more of the forest. He looked to his right as he moved, spotting Bellatrix cackling at the spreading fire – she didn't seem to have noticed him – and Harry ducked behind another tree, levelling his wand at the witch. Holding his breath to steady his hand, he fired a_ _ **Stupefy**_ _at her, only to see Bellatrix turn at the last moment and swat it aside with a glittering shield of crackling magical energy, a twisted smile on her face._

 _"Do you seriously think I didn't expect that?" She laughed. "The Dark Lord has taught me powers the likes of which you can't even comprehend!" Her voice rose to a deranged shriek. "Spells from Ministry textbooks can't compete against the Dark Arts!" As she bellowed, she twirled her wand in a wide arc over her head, and Harry watched, stunned, as flames from the raging wildfire leapt into the air above her, trailing after her wand like a whip._

 _Bellatrix sliced her wand through the air vertically, and the flames arced high into the trees, setting branches alight before they struck downwards with a sharp_ _ **crack**_ _, bursting the soil as sparks sprayed out on contact with the ground. Harry quickly shielded himself with a_ _ **Protego Maxima**_ _, but grunted under the force of the impact, digging in his feet as the flame-whip crashed off of the air above his head before dispersing._

 _Harry immediately rolled to the side, dodging a deep purplish curse that he couldn't identify. Staying on the move, he let loose an onslaught of stunning, restraining and petrifying spells as he sprinted around Bellatrix, the witch no longer smiling and forced on the defensive. None of his spells managed to get through, however, and Harry was fast running out of ideas – despite being at least fifty years old, Bellatrix's experience as a duellist was unrivalled by most wizards, and her skills far surpassed Harry's. To win, he'd have to outthink her._

 _Harry rapidly formed a plan._

 _The forest was quickly warming up as the fires spread, embers dancing into the night sky as the breeze buffeted them. Thick smoke was rising in columns from the inferno, the air in the forest tasting bitter with the scent of burning wood. Bellatrix stood on the spot, slinging spells in every direction she could, splintering tree trunks left and right in an attempt to force Harry out of cover. Staying low to the ground, Harry did his best to avoid coughing, the dry air sitting uncomfortably in his chest every time he took a breath._

 _Creeping through the undergrowth and covered by a Disillusionment Charm, Harry manoeuvred until he had a clear shot at Bellatrix's back. Spotting some sticks on the forest floor, Harry pointed his wand downwards and transfigured them into about ten sharp silver needles, lifting them with_ _ **Wingardium Leviosa**_ _, before aiming them at the witch._

 _"_ _ **Oppugno!**_ _" Harry whispered, the needles shooting through the air like bullets. Spotting them out of the corner of her eye, Bellatrix turned at the last second, managing to dodge all but two, the latter needles embedding themselves in her side, drawing a squeal of pain from the Death Eater. Harry didn't wait to move, and had already shifted through the trees as Bellatrix sent a powerful Blasting Curse towards his previous spot, several square meters exploding in a mass of soil and twigs as the spell impacted the ground. Whilst Bellatrix was distracted, Harry launched a new attack._

 _"_ _ **Silencio!**_ _" He shouted, putting as much power into the Silencing Charm as he could, the spell slamming into Bellatrix's chest even as she brought her wand about to summon a shield. Although she might have been able to cast_ _ **Finite Incantatem**_ _wordlessly, Harry didn't give her the chance – lining up his wand with the ground beneath Bellatrix's feet, Harry twisted his wand in a wide flourish, gasping quietly as he poured power into the Transfiguration he was performing._

 _The soil Bellatrix was standing on suddenly began to rumble and shift, rising and falling in massive waves, throwing her off of her feet as it bucked violently. Landing in a heap, she barely had time to rise to her feet before Harry's_ _ **Expelliarmus**_ _sent her wand soaring out of clenched fist, Harry catching it neatly as he removed the Disillusionment Charms._

 _"It's over, Bellatrix." Harry said quietly, as he walked over, repealing the Silencing Charm._

 _Bellatrix stared defiantly up at him and snarled, kicking out at Harry's legs suddenly, dropping him to the floor. Leaping on top of him, an ornate silver knife in her hand, she grabbed Harry's throat as she drove the blade towards his eyes. With barely a moment to react, Harry cast the only spell he could think of._

 _"_ _ **Depulso!**_ _" He roared, not realising he still held both his own wand and Bellatrix's. The now-overpowered Banishing Charm connected at point-blank range, sending Bellatrix flying away from Harry, the witch shrieking in rage before she suddenly crashed into one of the tree trunks with a deafening_ _ **crack**_ _, falling to the ground, crumpled and unmoving._

 _Gasping and choking, Harry rolled over onto his front before climbing to his feet. Mentally admonishing himself for his carelessness, he turned back towards Bellatrix's prone form, which now lay at the foot of the tree she had struck. Walking over, Harry realised abruptly that Bellatrix's body was twisted at a sickening angle, her legs bent and broken. He also noticed the large shard of wood that jutted out of her back, and the dark stain of blood spreading across her robes._

 ** _Oh, no._**

 _Crouching over her, Harry carefully rolled Bellatrix onto her side, cradling her head gently. To his surprise, she was still alive – but barely so, her already pale complexion rapidly losing what little colour it had left, a small trickle of deep red blood running out of her mouth. Her eyes darted up to meet Harry's._

 _"…Good one, Potter. Didn't know you had it in you…" She rasped quietly, more blood dribbling down her chin as she talked._

 _"I'm… sorry, Bellatrix." Harry responded, unsure of what else he could say._

 _"...You'll die for this, boy…" Bellatrix stated quietly, her eyes flushed with malice. Her mouth quivered unexpectedly, twisting slowly into an awful, bloodstained smile as she continued. "…We knew you were after… Cup," Bellatrix's voice grew faint, "…this... is just… a_ _ **distraction**_ _..."_

 _With a quiet exhalation of breath, Bellatrix Lestrange died, the awful, sickening grin still stuck to her face as her brown eyes became glassy and unseeing. Harry held her gently, shock and fear crashing over him in waves. He looked down at his one hand, and blanched when he saw the streams of blood that were smeared on it. His vision tunnelling, Harry threw himself to his feet before hunching over and vomiting, the acidic taste of the bile burning his throat._

 _A small voice in his head remarked that he'd never come back from this – the first time he'd ever chosen to take a life, and done so with his own hands._

 ** _What did she mean? A distraction for what?_**

 ** _For me._**

 ** _Oh, God, no._**

 _Panicking, Harry knew he had to get back to Sirius and Ginny at Hogwarts. Leaving Bellatrix's broken body to be consumed by the encroaching wildfire, Harry pulled down his anti-Apparition Jinx and turned on the spot, disappearing with a_ _ **crack**_ _._

 _Reappearing on the main track that led to the castle, the bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach as he stared up at what was left of Hogwarts, blazing in the distance, a beacon of despair._

* * *

Gasping and sweating, Harry woke, the warm August sunshine flooding his bedroom with light. Panicked, snatched his wand off of the bedside table and pointed it around the room wildly, his heart hammering in his chest. After a moment, he remembered where he was, lowering his wand with a sigh and sitting on the edge of the bed. Harry rubbed his face in his hands, trying to get the image of Bellatrix's twisted corpse and the flaming ruin of the school out of his mind. Ever since it had happened – some four years past in his original timeline – the events of that night had featured heavily in his nightmares.

He'd never wanted to kill anyone. He still didn't, even after the horrors visited upon his life. He knew deep down that Voldemort would have to die, but it was just that, a _necessity_ , not a choice that Harry had to make.

Not like Bellatrix.

Harry smiled humourlessly, the expression on his face more like a pained grimace than anything else. That he should feel guilt for taking a life is a given, it was something that Dumbledore and Sirius made sure he understood. He had always avoided making that choice, because he knew that if he did, he'd never be the same again.

That his guilt, therefore, was centred around Bellatrix _fucking_ Lestrange, without a doubt one of the most twisted, depraved and evil people Harry had ever known, was like some kind of sick joke.

After the shock and trauma of what happened that night had burned itself out in the months after, Harry had been left feeling… _wrong_. The loss, the pain, the _regret_ broke something, deep inside – something Harry came to realise he'd never be able to fix. In the end, he'd done his best to move forward, alone, and finish the mission. It was the only thing that mattered.

And he'd failed. Voldemort had beaten him, in a trap that was as simple as it was vicious.

For a few minutes, Harry thought he'd happily give his right arm all over again to have Dumbledore here with him. The old man would know, as he had always seemed to, exactly what to say to help ease the burden on Harry's shoulders.

 _But he isn't here_ , a small voice remarked in Harry's head as he looked in the bathroom mirror, his teenaged face staring grimly back at him.

The noise of the front door closing brought Harry out of his musing. Uncle Vernon had most likely just left for work. Studying himself in the mirror for a moment, Harry realised he was still in last night's clothes, and he smelt a little from sweating all night. Stripping off and throwing his clothes in the hamper in the corner, Harry climbed into the shower and let himself soak under the hot water for a little while.

Feeling refreshed, Harry went back to his room and dressed before heading downstairs. Walking into the kitchen, he put some bread in the toaster and looked into the living room while he waited. Dudley obviously wasn't in the house, but Aunt Petunia – as thin and horse-faced as Harry remembered – snapped her attention away from the morning news on the television and glared at him pointedly.

"You're up late, boy." She said by way of greeting, an expression of distaste on her face.

Harry abruptly realised, at the hostility in her tone, how much of a challenge living with the Dursleys for the next eight days was going to be. When his relatives had gone into hiding before Harry's seventeenth birthday in the original timeline, they'd not kept in contact – Harry didn't want them dead, but otherwise felt indifferent to their wellbeing, as were they to his. He'd almost forgotten just how uniquely unpleasant they were.

Already a part of him was itching to draw his wand from his pocket, damn the Trace, use the **_Imperius_** Curse on the lot of them, and be done with it.

Fighting down that particular urge, Harry replied as calmly as he could. "Sorry Aunt Petunia, I overslept."

Petunia huffed in response, clearly disinterested in berating Harry at the moment, before turning her attention back to the television. Thinking that the conversation was over, Harry swiftly turned back towards the kitchen to check on his toast, before Petunia spoke again.

"The rose bushes need pruning. Do it today, before Vernon gets home, or you won't get dinner."

Harry resisted the urge to tell Petunia just what she could do with her rose bushes, and sighed quietly as he left the living room. Returning to the kitchen just in time for the toaster to eject his breakfast, Harry got some butter from the fridge and prepared his small meal, thinking as he ate.

As much as he'd like to ruin the Dursleys' summer by disturbing the sterile, obsessive _normality_ of their home, Harry figured that he could do without being starved for the next week, and after finishing his toast, threw on some shoes and went out into the garden.

The sun was already high in the sky, its rays beating down on Little Whinging. Harry worked slowly, as he had until the evening for Uncle Vernon to return. Aside from a few scathing looks from Petunia through the kitchen windows, Harry's gardening went undisturbed. Now that he was outside, the familiarity of these chores flooded back to him, even after years of using magic for basic tasks. The simplicity of gardening was surprisingly welcome to Harry, and he enjoyed the peace and quiet it afforded him – although he had plenty of peace and quiet back at his dungeon in the original timeline, it was an isolated kind, filled with oppressive emptiness. Here, although he was still alone for the most part, he was calm, and Harry allowed himself to relax just a little.

The hours passed, and the sun sank lower in the sky as Harry finished pruning the roses, and mowed the lawn for good measure. Petunia looked at him suspiciously after he came in, but evidently couldn't find anything wrong with Harry's work, much to her chagrin. Harry ate his dinner with the Dursleys that evening, although his portion was – as expected – noticeably smaller than his cousin's, Dudley's chair creaking uneasily under his weight.

Harry was getting nervous, however. Aunt Marge would visit tomorrow, and he hadn't had any owls from Hogwarts all day. He _knew_ that he had the Hogsmeade form before she arrived last time, but he'd forgotten exactly _when_ he'd gotten hold of it. Harry realised that it was genuinely worrying to be unsure of events less than two days after his arrival in the past, particularly when the success of his plans for this year _hinged_ on his foreknowledge. As it was, there was nothing he could do for the moment. Thoroughly irritated, Harry returned to his bedroom and picked up his photo album, noting the lack of wear and tear when he mentally compared it to its future counterpart. Opening it up, he gazed at the photos of his parents for some time, flicking through as the sun set on the horizon.

And so, Harry's first full day at Number Four, Privet Drive in many years passed – remarkably – without incident.

* * *

Harry was sleeping fitfully that night, when a weight suddenly dropped onto his legs. Alarmed, Harry threw back the covers and leapt to his feet, pointing his wand at whatever was now moving around under the folded duvet. He reached his hand forward, tearing the duvet back when he saw what looked like three separate – and _very_ irritated – owls. Sighing, Harry put his wand back before switching on his bedside lamp. Turning back to the owls, Harry paused a moment, his breath catching in his throat.

Next to a haughty-looking tawny owl that had both a parcel and a Hogwarts letter tied to its legs, and a collapsed pile of grey feathers that could only be Errol, the Weasley family owl, sat Harry's own snowy owl, Hedwig.

A part of Harry was screaming at him that of _course_ Hedwig would be here and that he should have been prepared to see her, but it was quickly being drowned out by wondrous relief that his beautiful owl was once again alive and well. Harry did his best to drive the memories of Hedwig in his original timeline out of his mind. Setting Hedwig's own package aside for a moment, he gently stroked her feathers with a shaking hand, his eyes watering a little.

"It's good to see you again, girl," Harry said quietly, the owl hooting in reply, nuzzling her head against his hand for a moment before taking off across the room to her cage.

Untying the tawny owl's delivery, the creature ruffled its feathers importantly and took off out of the open window. Harry also freed poor Errol from the weight of his parcel, and carefully carried the owl to Hedwig's cage where the bird took long gulps of water.

Turning to his letters, he gasped in no small amount of relief as he read the Hogwarts letter and snatched the attached permission form for visits to Hogsmeade Village. He'd ask Vernon in the morning before his uncle went to collect Marge from the station, so that the large man would be pressed for time. Harry knew it would have to come down to threats; Vernon would _never_ give something to Harry if he knew his nephew wanted it.

Opening the parcel that the tawny owl had carried, he swore suddenly as he recognised _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , reflexively stroking the spine before the homicidal hardback could destroy his room. Grabbing an old belt from his chest of drawers, he tied it around the now-docile book and buckled it shut tightly. He also saw a nice birthday note in Hagrid's untidy scrawl.

It struck Harry momentarily – his body was thirteen years old now, but, considering the original timeline, he'd surely just turned _thirty_.

Shaking his head and once again mentally cursing time-travel for being so confusing, Harry opened Hedwig's package, containing a card and letter from Hermione and a broomstick servicing kit. Harry remembered how happy he was to receive this present the first time, but at the thought of his friends, his heart constricted painfully, and he set the items on his bedside table. Opening up Ron's package, he saw another letter, a card, and a small wrapped present. After tearing off the wrapping paper Harry saw that Ron had gotten him a Pocket Sneakoscope, and set it gently on its point on his table, where it sat, silent.

It was then that he was drawn to something that had fallen out of the package, onto the bed. A newspaper clipping about the Weasleys winning a Ministry lottery, and a photograph. Smiling up at him were the entire Weasley family, and Harry stared down at them sadly.

He'd seen so many of them die.

It was then that he saw, sitting on Ron's shoulder, a fat, grey rat.

 _Pettigrew._

Harry suddenly took the photo and slid it roughly into his photo album, unwilling to look at it anymore. Seeing the bastard, there on the page, made Harry feel like he was being taunted somehow. Flexing his hands, he felt the sudden need to break something, his heart thumping loudly in his ears. Standing up, Harry threw on some clothes before creeping downstairs and out of the house, walking off into the night.


	10. Isolation, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again! In the time it's taken me to write the latest chapter, the story has rapidly passed 5,000 views, and 70 followers! I don't think it's really set in yet that people actually like what I write, but I suppose I'll get it eventually!**

 **A quick note in this chapter - for Sirius' Animagus form, I try and refer to him as Padfoot as often as possible - to me, an Animagus form is like separate parts of an identity: James Potter is simply James when human, but when a stag he becomes Prongs, and that it feeds different characteristics of personality.**

 **Also, it's weird to write about the way a person would pet a dog, when that dog is also a person - and referring to the dog-person by their person name!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry's hands were clenched into tight fists as he stalked down Privet Drive, his nails cutting into his palms painfully. Despite managing the impossible, he couldn't remember ever feeling so powerless. His chest burned with rage that he couldn't direct or release – thanks to the Trace, his usual method of letting off curses until the anger burned out was impossible. Harry fumed as his feet carried him onwards, ending up in a small copse of trees a few streets away from Privet Drive.

Sighing in exasperation, Harry sat down at the base of the nearest tree, the roots digging uncomfortably into his back, and put his head in his hands.

He had no one to talk to, no Dumbledore to explain his rage away, no Sirius who'd join in cursing everything in sight. No Ron or Hermione, who'd help him take his mind off it all with their companionship.

No Ginny, who'd take his anger and break it apart as only she could, and set him right.

The enormity of his task seemed to suddenly stretch out before him, as if he were staring at the peak of a faraway mountain. He couldn't easily search for the Horcruxes outside of school. He couldn't use magic. He couldn't grab Pettigrew the moment he saw him, as it would be impossible to explain and would drastically disrupt the timeline. Right now, the only thing he could do was wait. It was _infuriating_.

He fought down the urge to write to Dumbledore and tell him everything.

He couldn't tell _anyone_ , Harry told himself. Whoever he spoke to would call him crazy, or the secret would get to Voldemort somehow, and his advantage would be lost; or worse still, he realised, anyone he involved would become a target, a weakness that Voldemort could exploit, and just like last time, everyone would die.

If he lost sight of the goals and abandoned the plan, everyone would die.

He had to finish the mission himself. It was the only way.

His anger blunted, Harry lifted his head and closed his eyes, listening to the rustling of the trees in the breeze. For a few minutes, he sat in quiet contemplation, letting the peace of Little Whinging wash over him, cooling the fires of his rage. He was brought out of his pensiveness by the hoot of an owl, and the gentle dropping of weight onto his legs. Opening his eyes, he found himself staring at Hedwig, her amber eyes locked on his. She hooted again, and nudged Harry's arm with her head.

Chuckling slightly, Harry lifted his arm and Hedwig climbed on, before nipping his ear affectionately. Harry stroked her feathers with his other hand, letting himself be absorbed by the repetitive simplicity of the action. After a little while, he sighed quietly and stood up, turning to the owl perched on his arm.

"Thanks, Hedwig." Harry remarked kindly, the owl once again nipping his ear. "You always did know how to help. Go back to my room, I'll be home in a little while." Raising his arm, Hedwig spread her wings and took off, soaring over a nearby rooftop and out of sight. A sad smile on his face, Harry started to trudge back to Privet Drive.

* * *

Harry woke early the next day, and made sure to shower and dress neatly – he wanted to avoid confrontations with Marge if at all possible. She may well be a petty, vile woman, but if Harry wasn't careful around her she'd draw attention to anything out of the ordinary. He'd have to put up the right façade when around her, or he'd end up with some difficult questions on his hands.

After eating a rushed breakfast, Uncle Vernon was getting ready to leave when Harry cornered him in the front hallway.

"What do you want, boy?" Vernon barked, his eyes narrowed suspiciously on the teenager in front of him.

"I need you to sign something, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, holding out the Hogsmeade form.

"What is it?" Harry's uncle asked pointedly, not even bothering to read the slip of parchment in Harry's hand.

"Just, you know, _school stuff_." Harry responded evasively, trying not to grin at the way Vernon flinched when he mentioned Hogwarts. He was careful to sound nonchalant, if he let slip that the form was in fact optional, and might lead to Harry actually having some fun, Vernon would throw it back in his face.

"Later, maybe, if you're good." Uncle Vernon replied, turning his back to Harry before making for the door.

"Actually, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, causing the large man to pause suddenly, "You should probably sign it _now_." Harry enjoyed the look of disbelief on his uncle's face when the man turned around, Vernon's cheeks already reddening with anger at his nephew's confident tone. Before his uncle could respond, Harry pressed on. "You see, it's a lot of things to remember, making sure Aunt Marge doesn't know where I actually go to school and keeping my… _talents_ hidden." He fixed Vernon with a hard glare, admiring the shade of puce his uncle's face was rapidly approaching.

"If you sign the form, I promise I'll keep everything as normal as you like. If you don't… well, I wonder what Aunt Marge would say if she saw Hedwig, for example? I think it'd be a bit of a shock. Or, I could always send some letters, get some _friends_ round to say hello…" he smirked inwardly as Vernon's eyes widened comically at the thought of a gaggle of oddly-dressed wizards showing up at his door.

Uncle Vernon drew himself up, obviously arguing with himself over Harry's threat, before slumping and pulling a pen from his pocket, signing the form quickly, as if the action itself made him uncomfortable. As he opened the door to leave, he looked over his shoulder at Harry, his voice laced with venom.

"I've signed your ruddy form, boy. You'd better make sure _nothing_ goes wrong, or there'll be hell to pay, mark my words."

Harry just smiled serenely as his uncle slammed the door and stormed off to his car. Heading back to his room, he packed away his textbooks, broomstick and trunk, hiding them in the cupboard. A little bit of spring cleaning later and his room looked absolutely, depressingly _normal_. Harry was just leaving the bathroom when he heard the front door open, and heavy footfalls in the front hall that could only signal Vernon and Marge's return.

Groaning inwardly, Harry steeled himself for a week that was most likely going to be even more unpleasant than the first time he sat through it, if only because he'd already done it once.

* * *

The week with Marge seemed to pass more slowly than Harry thought possible, and each day was a trial to deal with the pointed remarks, insults about his supposed delinquency and Marge's _bloody_ dog, Ripper. Harry sent Hedwig out hunting each day before dawn, and would tell her not to come back until well into the evening. Most of his time was spent doing chores, cleaning up after the Dursleys and helping to cook meals each night from which he'd get only the most sparing of portions.

Thankfully, Marge's last day at Privet Drive rolled around, and – entertaining as it might be to inflate the foul woman _again_ – Harry stayed calm, and formed a strategy to get him out of the Dursleys without involving the Ministry of Magic. Once the conversation turned to Harry's parentage, he set his plan in motion.

* * *

 **(Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, PP. 26-27)**

 **"As I expected!" Aunt Marge said, taking a huge swig of brandy and wiping her chin on her sleeve. "A no-account, good-for-nothing, lazy scrounger who-"**

"He was rich, though." Harry said quietly, the whole table suddenly falling silent. Marge glared at him with tiny, bloodshot eyes, and Vernon and Petunia were gaping at each other in shock. Even Dudley, who'd been focused on the television up until this point, was staring at Harry, open-mouthed.

"W-what?" Vernon choked out, his meaty fist clenched so tight around his glass of brandy that it looked like it might shatter.

"Oh, you didn't know?" Harry asked sarcastically, directing a particularly pointed glare at Petunia, his face twisting into a grin. "My dad was _very_ rich. His grandfather was a Lord, after all." Harry stood up, gently pushing his chair in and taking his plate to the kitchen counter as he continued, "and he left _all_ of that money to me." He turned back to his assembled relatives, an exaggerated expression of concentration on his face as he tapped his chin with his finger.

"Why, now that I think about it, I must be a _millionaire_. It honestly makes me wonder why I stay here at all – but then, you _do_ give me all that free food." His tone turned biting as he glared at Petunia, who shrunk in her seat, suddenly looking ashamed. Vernon took one look at his wife, and leapt from his chair with surprising speed, a vein throbbing in his temple.

"You mean, that _all these years_ , you've just been squatting here, _in MY house!?_ " He ground out through clenched teeth. Harry smiled cheerfully in response.

"Basically, yeah." He retorted. Even as Vernon swelled like a bullfrog, ready to start yelling, Harry cut him off. With a jaunty wave to his stunned relatives, he called over his shoulder as he left the room.

"Thanks for the bed and board, we simply _must_ do this again sometime!" Snickering, he ran up the stairs, grabbing his trunk, broomstick and Hedwig's cage – he'd been sure to pack thoroughly beforehand, so that he was ready to leave. Hauling everything back down to the front hall, he was in the process of opening the front door when Vernon charged through from the kitchen, his flabby face twisted with rage. Aunt Petunia followed in his wake, her mouth set in a thin line.

"BOY, DON'T YOU _DARE_ LEAVE THIS HOUSE!" He roared as he lumbered over, his fist raised.

Harry simply drew his wand, and held Vernon's gaze, the tip pointing at his uncle's chest.

"Give me a reason, Vernon. I won't hesitate." He said, his tone calm and deadly.

Uncle Vernon stopped, his beady eyes darting down to the wand in Harry's hand, and back up to his face. He seemed to be weighing up his odds, and Harry's mouth twisted into a frightening, feral grin. After a few, tense moments, Vernon backed off, his expression mutinous. Harry opened the door with his free hand, keeping his wand trained on his relatives. Petunia peeked around Vernon's shoulder, and fixed Harry with a hateful glare.

"Don't come back." She hissed angrily. Harry nodded to her as he stepped out of the door.

"You might want to move house, all of you. Without me here, you won't be protected." He sighed tiredly as he looked at Petunia once again, ignoring his uncle completely. "I _despise_ this whole family, Petunia. You're petty and spiteful, and you've insulted your sister's memory." Harry's aunt looked like she'd been slapped, and Harry enjoyed the feeling of vindictive triumph that coiled in his stomach.

"But…" he lowered his wand slightly, "I don't want any of you to die. Think about what I've said. Goodbye." Harry closed the door, snatching up his belongings as he walked calmly out of Privet Drive forever.

* * *

Harry checked the pocket of his hoodie, where he'd surreptitiously put a tin foil-wrapped leg of Aunt Petunia's roast chicken. In the other pocket was a slab of chocolate that he'd managed to steal from one of the kitchen cupboards. Although the Dursleys would likely miss the latter of the two, Harry's mind was focused on Sirius, who was probably nearby, right this second.

Walking onwards to Magnolia Crescent after a short stop, where he'd tied Hedwig's cage and his broomstick to his trunk with his belt, Harry sat down on the kerb and waited.

Sure enough within a minute or two of him arriving Harry saw a pair of dark eyes looking at him from the shadows. Trying to look surprised, he stayed put, waiting for Sirius, currently in his Animagus form of Padfoot - a large black dog that resembled the spectral Grim, to make his way over.

 _This is where things change._

Seeing his godfather's hesitation, Harry called out.

"Hey there, boy. Are you lost?"

Padfoot whined a little, and stayed put. Frowning, Harry tried to ease his godfather's nervousness.

"It's alright, I won't bite, promise." He grinned slightly, and Padfoot trudged over to his spot on the kerb.

Harry tried not to gasp when he saw Sirius' condition – the dog's coat was matted and dirty, and the outline of ribs were clearly visible on its belly. Harry held out his hand and scratched Padfoot gently behind the ears, the dog relaxing a little and sitting down.

It was a little weird, Harry thought, to be treating his godfather – a grown man – like any other stray animal, but he knew he had to keep up appearances. Also, Sirius had told him once that he often turned back into Padfoot when things were a little too much to deal with, and Harry hoped the gentle affection he was showing would help his godfather feel just a little better after Azkaban.

"Say, boy, you're looking a little thin there. Don't get much food?" Harry asked, Padfoot letting out a small whine in response. "I stole this from my uncle's house before he kicked me out," Harry said as he pulled out and unwrapped the chicken leg, stifling a chuckle at how suddenly Sirius' eyes locked onto the food. "I don't suppose you'd like to share a bit?" He asked.

Padfoot looked at Harry and barked once, and after tearing off a small piece for himself – he wasn't very hungry – Harry threw the chicken to the dog, who began to devour it promptly, shredding it within seconds. He noted how Sirius wolfed down the chicken like it was the first food he'd seen in ages, and Harry didn't think that that was too far from the truth.

After their small meal, Harry pulled out the slab of chocolate, breaking off a chunk for himself and then holding one out to Padfoot.

"I always found that a bit of chocolate can make me feel better after a bad day. You look like you might need some." He said quietly, Padfoot looking at him curiously before snatching the chocolate out of his hand and chomping on it. Happy to see his godfather even a little better than last time, Harry resumed scratching Padfoot behind the ears, and decided that whilst Sirius was here, that he might as well try and fill his godfather in on his life in this timeline.

"I've lived at my uncle's house since as long as I can remember. My aunt – my mum's sister – never told me much about my parents, only that they died in a car crash." Padfoot's ears pricked up at that, and he growled softly. "You've got good instincts, boy," Harry replied. "Yeah, she lied. You'll never believe this," He said, making sure to cast a quick look around for any muggles who might be able to listen, "but I'm not like everyone else, and neither were mum and dad. My family are _wizards_. Can you believe that?" He asked, allowing some boyish enthusiasm to seep into his words, a large smile forming on his face.

"I get to go to this wonderful school, in a castle in Scotland, called Hogwarts," Harry continued. "I get to use a magic wand and cast spells, and brew potions – although the teacher for that, Professor Snape, doesn't like me for some reason. Greasy git." Harry quipped, Padfoot barking happily in response. "Wizards play this strange sport, called Quidditch, _on broomsticks!_ All the school houses have teams – I'm Seeker for the Gryffindor team, my house at Hogwarts." Harry let out a small laugh when, upon hearing that Harry was in Gryffindor, Padfoot jumped up and ran around in a circle for a moment, barking.

"I don't really know why I'm telling you this," Harry said quietly after Padfoot calmed down. "I mean, you're just a dog." Padfoot snorted at that, but Harry chose to ignore it. "I don't have any friends outside of school, and my aunt and uncle, they don't understand magic." Harry sighed tiredly. "I think they're scared of it, actually. They try and make sure I keep it all secret so none of the neighbours find out. If I do anything wrong they usually don't let me have dinner, and when I do get it I always get less food than my uncle or fat cousin anyway." Padfoot began growling loudly, sitting up and looking up the street, as if he were trying to find Privet Drive.

"It's okay, boy." Harry said, stroking Padfoot's fur until the dog sat back down, turning and licking his hand. "I've decided I've had enough of them, and I think they've had enough of me." He remarked, a small smile on his face. "It's only a few weeks until school starts. I was thinking of staying at the Leaky Cauldron, a wizarding inn in London, until I need to go back to school." Padfoot licked his hand again by way of response.

"Anyway," Harry stood up, drawing his wand, "I should get going – I'm going to hail a wizard bus, boy. You want to come with me?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Padfoot's ears drooped as the dog let out a sad whine.

"That's okay, boy. Here, for the road." Harry said as he crouched down, holding out the rest of the chocolate. Padfoot looked at the chocolate before suddenly tackling Harry, licking his face several times. Laughing, Harry climbed back to his feet, putting the slab of chocolate in Padfoot's mouth, and motioned for the dog to go on. Throwing out his wand arm, the _Knight Bus_ , still just as loud as he remembered, appeared out of thin air with a _BANG_.

Climbing aboard and giving his name to the conductor, Stan Shunpike, ("Hey 'Ern, we just picked up 'Arry Potter!") the bus shot off, leaving Little Whinging behind in a whirl of scenery. Harry stared out of the rear window of the bus, looking back at the darkened country lane they were already speeding down.

 _Good luck, Sirius._


	11. Isolation, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **And _boom_ , a wild chapter eleven appears!**

 **A note on some feedback I've gotten:**

 **Harry giving Sirius chocolate: I know that you're not supposed to give dogs chocolate, though I suppose it's good that some of you were worried I'd made that mistake. In canon, it's said that one of the best things to help with the effects of Dementors is to eat some chocolate - Sirius, who up until this point has been making do with appalling living conditions, hunger and long-term Dementor exposure, could do with a helping hand. Harry gives him chocolate because he _knows_ it will help clear his godfather's head. As for how Sirius can eat it in his Animagus form and not get sick, I believe that an Animagus form has different characteristics compared to an actual animal of the same type. Turning into Padfoot simply won't change his physiology to the point that he'd become seriously ill after having chocolate.**

 **On the flashbacks and stuff: A few of you have said that you prefer not to have either overly-long flashbacks in each chapter, or flashbacks at all. I will say now, flashbacks will continue to feature every two or three chapters for the foreseeable future. To try and find a middle ground, however, I'll try and use them less frequently, and cut down on a lot of the exposition and unnecessary description in the flashbacks.**

 **That's all, folks!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

As the Knight Bus sped onwards, Harry did his best to ignore Shunpike's interrogation ("Whassit like, defeatin' You-Know-'Oo?") and considered his plans for the next few weeks – he'd be staying at the Leaky Cauldron, like last time – but without alerting the Ministry to his whereabouts with underage magic, he realised he'd likely have to send letters to Ron and Hermione, telling them what happened. No doubt Molly would relay the message to Dumbledore, and the old man could prevent a panic in the Minister's Office from Harry's little disappearing act.

Harry sighed quietly as the Knight Bus let out another _BANG,_ suddenly appearing on a busy city street, lurching uncomfortably. Grimacing at the motion sickness, Harry held on to the small bed as tightly as he could, the furniture sliding back and forth along the length of the bus as it weaved through traffic and careered around corners.

The journey didn't take long, although by the time the Knight Bus came to an abrupt halt outside the Leaky Cauldron, Harry's stomach was thoroughly upset. Staggering off of the bus ("Take 'er away 'Ern!"), Harry hauled his belongings into the pub and rented a room from Tom the Innkeeper, putting a small handful of gold and silver coins on the bar. Taking his things upstairs, Harry unpacked, relieved to see Hedwig arrive at his window a few minutes later.

At that, he climbed into bed and fell fast asleep.

* * *

The sun was already streaming through the window when Harry awoke, quickly darting his wand about the room before throwing back the covers and standing up, stretching. After a quick shower, he wandered downstairs to a hearty breakfast, intending to work on his fitness once he got back to Hogwarts.

After finishing his meal, he went through the back of the pub to the small courtyard wall that hid the entrance to Diagon Alley. Drawing his wand and tapping the right sequence of bricks, the wall began to fold away, revealing the winding, cobbled high street. Already, the Alley was bustling with activity, and colourful-robed wizards walked this way and that, some browsing displays or reading the _Daily Prophet_ , others rushing in between stores, their arms laden down by their purchases. Darting in between the adults, laughing and chasing each other, were a small group of children, no older than seven or eight.

Harry's mouth set into a thin line when he remembered how the Alley looked the last time he saw it.

 _I won't let that happen again._

Walking quickly forward, Harry made his way through the shoppers in the direction of Gringotts Bank. A few people had already noticed him, and Harry could see them whispering to each other and pointing as he sped up, pulling the hood of his jacket over his head. He gripped the silky mass of the Invisibility Cloak more tightly in his pocket, reassured by its presence.

Stepping through the imposing oak doors to the bank's main hall, Harry strode across the marble floors towards the main teller's desk, his footsteps echoing in the measured silence of the hall. The smartly-dressed goblin manning the teller's desk narrowed his eyes at the approaching teenager, but stayed silent.

"Excuse me," Harry began, lowering his hood once he reached the desk, "I'd like to make a withdrawal from my vault – number 687." He reached into his jacket and withdrew his vault key, holding it out before the teller took it in a clawed hand.

The goblin examined his key for a moment before casting a suspicious eye over Harry, as if the creature was doubtful of Harry's intentions. Several seconds passed in silence punctuated only by the continued _clinking_ of coins at the counting desks, before the goblin looked over his shoulder and barked out something in Gobbledegook, another goblin immediately hurrying over from somewhere out of sight.

Once the teller handed Harry back his key, he followed the new – yet just as quiet – goblin down the stairs at the back of the hall before climbing onto one of the bank's many carts. After a moment, the contraption was sent hurtling along the rails as it sped deep underground, the massive caverns beneath the bank spreading out around them, the cart tracks running like arteries into the darkness.

Before long, Harry had retrieved a small bagful of coins, as well as a few hundred pounds after a short visit to the exchange desk, and was back on Diagon Alley. As it was nearly midday, the Alley was now heaving with people, the crowds of witches and wizards seeming to undulate like the surface of a sea.

Harry grimaced, and set about making his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, his progress heavily impeded thanks to the crowds. He'd just finished weaving past an irate elderly wizard who was carrying a cauldron full of what looked like partially-dissected amphibians, when he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Looking up, he saw someone in the crowd ahead look him right in the eyes. Before he could discern who it was, the person had moved, locks of red hair visible as they turned away, disappearing from sight behind a pair of middle-aged witches with tall, pointed hats.

 _…What the hell?_

His return to the Leaky Cauldron forgotten, Harry started pushing through the crowd more roughly, trying to reach the spot where he'd seen the figure. Jostling his way past a small family, he looked around. He couldn't see the person ahead of him at all. Assuming he'd just seen some trick of the light, Harry was about to keep moving towards the pub when he spotted a momentary flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Whirling about, he saw a passageway that turned off of the main street, its entrance looking like any other doorway at first glance.

 _There._

Walking out of the crowd, Harry began down the narrow passage, the noise of Diagon Alley falling away quickly, as if it were somehow being smothered in a blanket of silence. He drew his wand from his pocket, keeping his eyes peeled as he went around a corner, the bricks of the passage walls looking dirtier with every quiet step he made.

Ahead of him, he saw the figure more clearly for just a moment – a woman, darting up a side passage, her shoes echoing on the stone steps. Moving swiftly after her, Harry kept his wand pressed against his palm. Looking up the steep stairs, he could see the rolling overcast clouds through the archway at the top of the steep passage. Suddenly, he paused, his heart thumping a little louder in his chest as he realised – it was _sunny_ on Diagon Alley, clear blue skies in every direction. Questions flooded into Harry's mind.

Where had this come from?

Where was he?

His palms sweating slightly, Harry decided to turn back, emerging back into the passage to see-

A brick wall, featureless yet weathered as if it had always been there, sitting in the place of the passage he'd just stepped out of.

 _What the_ _ **fuck?**_

Harry pressed his back to the wall opposite the stairway, pointing his wand up at the archway, now the only way out of… whatever this is.

Stepping forward slowly, Harry kept his body in a slight crouch, trying to keep the noise of his sneakers on the cobblestones to a minimum as he climbed the stairs. A few tense seconds later, where all he could hear was the sound of his own breathing echoing off of the walls, Harry reached the top. Looking out around the corner of the archway, he saw Diagon Alley – only, it wasn't the same one as the one he'd left. In fact, this Diagon Alley looked _identical_ to the one from the future. Instead of crowds of witches and wizards, laughing children and bustling commerce, the Alley was mostly deserted, the shops closed up and vandalised. Familiar posters demanding information on _Undesirable Number One_ were plastered on every window and wall.

Harry gasped, the realisation crashing down on him even as his heart began to race, his breath coming shallow and fast.

 _This can't be real_ , said a quiet voice in the back of his mind.

Looking once more up and down the Alley, Harry saw with a start that the few people he'd seen scurrying around the street were gone. Instead, standing right in the middle of the Alley, was one person.

A young woman with flaming red hair, her bright blue skirt flowing in the breeze.

"You can't be here, Gin." Harry called out, his voice carrying in the empty street.

The woman turned, confirming Harry's assumption when he found the face of Ginny Weasley looking back at him.

"Why can't I?" She asked, her face impassive.

"Because this isn't real." Harry responded, his voice growing stronger with each word, as if he needed to hear the statement himself. "Because you're dead."

Ginny smiled at him, tilting her head slightly, as if in amusement.

"And you're not?"

The question struck Harry, memories of their conversation whilst he was unconscious from Voldemort's curse coming back in force. Shaking his head slightly, trying to refocus his attention, Harry replied.

"No, I'm not," he stated authoritatively, trying to end that line of questioning before continuing. "If you're here, then you know what I've done." He took a step forward now, his hand clenched white-knuckled around his wand.

"The time-travel spell, yes," Ginny answered, "so you can prevent all this?" She gestured to the abandoned street around her, taking a step toward Harry, who nodded.

"I'm going to stop it all before it happens. Everything." Harry shot back as he advanced. " _Why are you here?_ " He asked pointedly, irritated at her evasiveness.

"I'm here to ask you something." Ginny replied neutrally, now within a few paces of Harry. "How can you fix the future, if you can't even fix yourself?" Her voice falling to a whisper as she stepped into Harry's reach, the teenager responding by raising his wand, pointing it at her chest.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine," Harry responded, holding his wand steady as he locked eyes with Ginny. She laughed uncharacteristically harshly as she glanced down at the wand pointed at her chest, and back up at Harry, her eyes cold.

"You've run from death whenever he's come for you, Harry. You've gone so far now that you're even going to _manipulate_ everyone around you, _your friends_ ," she spat out the last words, "in the hope of undoing your own demise. The only person who doesn't know that you're not fine is _you_." Harry paused, his wand tip jabbing into the flesh above Ginny's heart.

 _What? That's ridiculous. I didn't go back because I… it was my ONLY option._

 _I've got to get out of here_ , Harry decided.

"Step back, Ginny." He ordered, his hand shaking slightly.

Ginny only grinned, and stayed put.

"Why? You can't kill me, Harry. As you said, I'm already dead."

Harry stepped back slightly as Ginny let out a small giggle. "Exactly, Ginny. You're _dead_. You _can't be here_ , because _this isn't real!_ " He shouted, Ginny just continuing to look amused.

Suddenly, Ginny stepped forward, gently clasping Harry's wand hand in her own and forcing the point away from her chest and over her shoulder. "If it isn't real, then why don't you just leave? Why don't you destroy me with a thought? Why don't you let loose all of the rage I can see that you're carrying, and turn this place to dust and ash, until only you remain?" She hissed, her expression furious.

"Answer? _Inside, you're as dead as I am_." She responded, her biting tone making Harry flinch, shaking his head in denial.

"Sure, you're walking and talking and laughing and crying," she continued, "but since when does that make you alive?

"You think that your return to the past won't have any consequences except the ones you design? You're a dead man, playing at being alive one last time. You've already started to make ripples – ripples that will turn into waves, waves that will come crashing down on you and expose you for what you _really_ are.

"And when it does, there'll be no secrets, Harry. There'll be no spell you can cast to undo your actions here. Second chances don't become thirds." Her expression softened to one of sadness, a small smile tugging at her lips as she looked at him.

"Are you sure, love, that coming back was the _right_ choice?" She whispered almost tenderly.

Harry was about to respond when a loud _crack_ went off behind him. Acting on impulse, he wrenched his hand out of Ginny's to confront whoever had Apparated nearby, wand drawn and a stunning spell on his lips, and was shocked when he found himself locking eyes with a small blonde-haired girl, the child staring at him, open mouthed, a bundle of miniature fireworks in her hands.

Harry stood, stunned, before quickly darting his eyes around – the Future-Alley was gone, and he was standing back in the dark of the narrow passageway he'd first headed down, staring out at the bustling, sun-lit streets of the _real_ Diagon Alley.

And he had his wand trained on a child.

Looking back down at the girl and lowering his wand, Harry raised his other hand to his lips, making a 'shushing' motion, trying his best not to look scary.

The child stared up at him, clearly wary, before nodding her head slowly, and skipping out into the sunshine, disappearing into the crowds. Harry sagged against the brick wall, glancing around the corner and up the passageway to see a strong metal gate blocking the way further in, locked and bolted shut.

 _…What_ _ **was**_ _all that?_

Hurrying back to the Leaky Cauldron, Harry pulled his hood down hard over his face, stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked back through the crowds, weaving in between the groups of witches and wizards until he was safely back in his room at the pub. Once he was sat on the bed, the door locked and braced with a chair, he stared at himself in the mirror, looking older and wearier than any thirteen-year-old should.

 _Did I really run? Are all of these… visions… based on myself? Are parts of them true?_

A stronger, more authoritative voice spoke up in response. _You know that you didn't do this for yourself. You had the opportunity to undo everything, to set it all right, and you took it. It wasn't about you._

Lying back on the bed, he stared upward at nothing in particular.

 _Are you sure?_

The question echoed in his mind as he simply lay there, silent.

* * *

Hours had passed before Harry moved again, lifting himself up off of the bed and staring out at the lights of muggle London through the window. He couldn't help but think about what he'd seen, and what Ginny had said to him.

 _Consequences…_

Thinking back to the letters Ron and Hermione had sent to him on his birthday that were currently sitting unopened in his trunk, he realised that he should probably read them and reply, giving them the cover story he'd decided on: Uncle Vernon and himself had had a serious argument, and as a result Harry had been thrown out of Privet Drive. Going to the bathroom and splashing some water on his face to wake himself up, he pulled out the letters and began to read.

He grinned, chuckling to himself when Hermione mentioned using her holiday in France to do research for her History of Magic essay. He smiled as he pictured his bushy-haired friend, nose deep in a large tome whilst she and her family climbed the Eiffel Tower, not looking up once for the view. Reading the letter from Ron, he enjoyed the anecdotes about the Weasleys' trip to Egypt, and all the tombs they'd managed to visit whilst there, imagining the mayhem Fred and George must've gotten up to.

After he'd finished, he pulled out a quill and ink from his trunk, and set about writing his replies.

* * *

 ** _Dear Ron,_**

 ** _Thanks for the letter and the Sneakoscope, I'm sure it'll come in handy!_**

 ** _Pass on my congratulations to your dad for winning the prize draw, from what his job sounds like, it seems like he could definitely do with a day off or two!_**

 ** _I hope you're all having a wicked time in Egypt, although no doubt Hermione will ask you all about what wizards are like there when you get back – so I'd make sure to have a few anecdotes for her._**

 ** _As for London, well I've got some (bad?) news there. Before you panic, don't worry, I'll be in London for when you're back – the thing is, I'm already here. You see, when my horrible Aunt Marge came and stayed at Privet Drive (on my birthday, no less!) I got into a really bad argument with Uncle Vernon. Long story short, I've been thrown out of home, possibly for good._**

 ** _I made it to the Leaky Cauldron okay, and I'll be staying here until school starts. Good riddance to bad rubbish, I say. Dursley-free life, here I come!_**

Harry paused, his quill hovering over the letter as he considered his next sentence – _it should be meaningless_ , he thought, but at the same time he remembered what Ginny had told him.

 _Consequences._

After debating with himself for a while, he nodded, putting quill to parchment once more.

 ** _Say hi to your brothers (and sister) for me!_**

 ** _Harry_**

With that done, he sealed the letter and pulled out a fresh roll of parchment for his response to Hermione.

 ** _Dear Hermione,_**

 ** _Thanks for the letter, and that Broomstick Servicing Kit! I'll be sure to put it to good use with the Nimbus._**

 ** _Ron sounds like he's having a great time from the letter he's sent me – but I wouldn't be too sure that he's been learning as much about the Egyptians as you have about the French! You know Ron, he's probably been trying out his treasure-hunting skills with Fred and George._**

 ** _I hope all of those French wizard libraries are up to scratch – but please try to remember to have some fun, okay?_**

 ** _Ha, just kidding!_**

 ** _I'm telling Ron this in the letter I've written to him as well – I'm actually already in London. Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge, came to stay for a week on my birthday (just my luck!) and on the last day, me and Uncle Vernon had a_** ** _huge_** ** _argument. There were a lot of threats thrown around (mostly by him) and, put simply, I've been thrown out of Privet Drive. I've been staying at the Leaky Cauldron, and I'll be there until school starts._**

 ** _I'm both glad and worried, to be honest, to be out of the Dursleys' house. On the one hand, they've been pretty awful guardians for as long as I can remember. On the other, I've now got to try and find somewhere to live for next year._**

 ** _I suppose I can deal with it all as it comes, at least for the moment._**

 ** _See you soon!_**

 ** _Love,_**

 ** _Harry_**

Sealing up the last letter, he took them both over to Hedwig, tying them to her legs before letting her soar out of the window, and off into the night. His stomach rumbling, Harry unbarred his door and headed down to the bar, where he got a late dinner from Tom, eating quietly at one of the tables that ran along the back wall of the pub, absorbed in his thoughts.


	12. Friends and Foes, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Here we are, at chapter twelve! Today (December 5th), the story hit 85 Followers (!), 50 Reviews, and 30 Favourites, and 6,500 Views! I'm blown away by all of your support, and can't express my gratitude enough. Thank you, all of you!**

 **Enjoy, ladies and gentlemen, enjoy.**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry spent his second day at the Leaky Cauldron going shopping in muggle London. He'd needed new clothing for years, and now that he had the freedom and the time to do so, he figured he'd get himself an entirely new wardrobe. He kept his head down as he worked his way through numerous department stores, doing his best to both carefully watch his surroundings, and be invisible to the other shoppers. He'd even considered using the Cloak to stay completely out of sight, but a small voice had warned him – if he bumped into someone, or the Cloak slipped just a little and he was seen, he'd have a much more serious problem on his hands than a nosy muggle or two.

The day passed uneventfully, although Harry did begin to enjoy spending money on himself, even going so far as to drop into a restaurant for lunch, and buying a large – and quite delicious – pizza. By the early evening, he was finished with his shopping, and decided to make his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, carrying what felt like several tonnes in shopping bags.

It was when he returned to the pub, however, that he received quite the surprise. Just as he entered from the street entrance, and nodded to Tom, who was polishing glasses behind the bar, a voice called out.

"Ah, Harry, there you are!"

Harry turned, spotting the source of the voice sat at one of the corner tables and nearly dropping his shopping in surprise.

Wearing a smart suit – sans his trademark green bowler hat – and holding a small cup of tea in his hand, was none other than Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic. Harry was about to respond, when he realised – he'd never actually _officially_ met the Minister before – although he'd seen the man when he and Ron were hiding in Hagrid's Hut during their second year, himself and the Minister had never been introduced. So instead, Harry settled on a more neutral option as he walked over.

"Sorry, sir – I don't think we've met before."

Fudge's eyes widened slightly in surprise – evidently he'd at least expected Harry to know who he was, and the fact that the Boy-Who-Lived didn't even know the Minister for Magic seemed to shake his pride slightly, Harry noted, smiling inwardly at the bureaucrat's discomfort. The Minister took a quick sip of tea, before continuing, his voice a little more hesitant than before.

"Ah, well, er- but of course, where are my manners? Harry, I'm Cornelius Fudge, the Minister for Magic." He rallied himself well, and his introduction was soon laced with confidence. He gestured with the teacup to Harry's bags. "Been out and about, Harry?" He asked nonchalantly.

Harry nodded, not missing a sudden flash of what looked like fear run across Fudge's expression. "Yes, sir," he replied innocently, "I've been out in muggle London for the day-"

"The _whole_ day?" Fudge exclaimed, cutting him off – he was looking very nervous now.

"Yes, sir." Harry continued, "I've been needing new clothes for a long time, and I decided that whilst I had a day to spare, I might as well get all of this done." He gently put the shopping bags down, shaking his arms slightly to loosen them up.

"Well, yes, it's very good that you're back, Harry." Fudge said, trying to master his surprise. He motioned for Harry to sit down, the teenager dropping himself into the seat across from the Minister. "You caused a little bit of bother, Harry, when you disappeared from your guardians' house." He stated, although his tone was more amused than anything else.

Harry put on a small show of looking guilty, not meeting the Minister's eyes a little as he replied quietly. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know what to do, so I came here as soon as I left."

Looking up, he saw the Minister look more than a little relieved at Harry's statement. "That's alright, m'boy," Fudge said, trying to sound friendly. "It's very good that you came straight here – why, if the _Prophet_ had found out about your disappearance before the Ministry did, I daresay you'd be all over the evening paper – what with Sirius Black running amok."

"I saw a bulletin about him on the muggle news, sir. Is he dangerous?" He asked innocently.

Fudge nodded, taking another sip of tea. "Yes, m'boy. Black was one of… You-Know-Who's most fanatical supporters. When you disappeared, we were worried that he'd managed to find you." The Minister answered.

Harry saw an opportunity to make the man squirm, and took it. "I'm sorry, sir, but for a moment there it sounded like you think Black's _after_ me." Fudge's eyebrows narrowed, clearly realising his mistake. "I'd never even heard of Black before a week or so ago, so why would he be after me, sir?"

Fudge looked uneasy, shifting in his seat before he replied, his tone slightly authoritative – evidently, he didn't want to go further into this topic. "Well, with your status as the Boy-Who-Lived, it's practically assured that any Death Eater fanatic might want to target you, Harry." He drained his teacup, setting it down on his saucer with a small _clink_ before changing the subject quickly. "As it is, you're here, safe and sound, so there's no harm done, eh?

"Now, although you've been out and about in muggle London today, Harry, I'm afraid that you're going to have to stay in Diagon Alley for the next few weeks, for your own safety. Black is a very dangerous man, and we need you _not to go running off again._ " Checking his golden pocket watch, the Minister rose from his seat, Harry mirroring the action.

"Well, I'd best be off – with everything that's happened I've been working overtime!" Fudge chortled, before shaking Harry's hand in a firm grip. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Harry. I hope this won't be the last time we can work together. Stay safe, and good luck for your new year at Hogwarts!" Fudge said, before walking over to the large fireplace in the main room of the pub. Drawing some Floo Powder from a small snuffbox in his pocket, he climbed in, and called out.

"Ministry of Magic, Atrium!" Throwing the powder at the charcoal beneath him, Fudge disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

Picking up his shopping bags, Harry walked tiredly up the stairs towards the inn's rooms. Reaching his own, he set his shopping down by the bed and stripped off, heading to the bathroom for a shower. As he soaked under the water, he considered what he could get done before Ron and Hermione arrived – particularly since he couldn't leave the Alley. As it was, the only things that Harry could realistically achieve were to buy his school things and do all of his summer homework (that he knew his past self would have been putting off). Swearing quietly at his lack of options, he thought back to his earlier meeting with the Minister.

 _No doubt someone told Dumbledore, and he told Fudge. I bet the Ministry wasn't even concerned about where I was until the old man told Fudge I was missing. Bloody bureaucrat. Still, it was fun to see him on the back foot for a change._

Harry smiled to himself, chuckling at how easily he'd knocked Fudge's confidence down a few pegs.

 _If only the idiot could blunder his way out of office, at least then we might end up with someone competent._

Finishing his shower, he headed down to pub and ate his dinner, managing to beg a half-pint of ale from Tom, who grinned at the teenager's tenacity.

* * *

The next fortnight passed uneventfully for Harry in a blur of reading, writing and research. He'd purchased all his school supplies the day after Fudge's visit, and was now fully prepared for his next year at Hogwarts. Resolving to put some of his years of training and experience to use, he set about writing the many essays that the professors wanted done over the summer, and was impressed by how easily his school knowledge was coming back to him.

Otherwise, he spent many hours in _Flourish & Blotts_, reading through old issues of the _Prophet_ , looking for information on Sirius. Although he already knew everything about the events of his parents' murders and Sirius' arrest, he needed to be able to explain his knowledge, particularly to Hermione, who'd surely ask him where he'd found out once it came up in conversation. Harry planned to start talking to his friends about Sirius as soon as he could, and try and open their minds to the innocence early on – it may be useful later.

Whilst in Diagon Alley, he saw a few people that he recognised. The Gryffindor muggle-born Dean Thomas, one of Harry's friends and year-mates, came over and said hello after spotting him eating ice cream at _Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour_ , and the two had a short conversation about their respective summer holidays, and what they expected for third year.

It was about ten days into Harry's stay at Diagon Alley when, as he was eating lunch at the Leaky Cauldron, a rather stern, black-robed witch that Harry would've recognised anywhere stepped out of the fireplace in a flash of green flames.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall." Harry said, waving when his head-of-house looked around, her normally severe expression softening into a smile when she saw the teenager.

"Hello, Mr. Potter," she said as she walked over. "I hear you've had a rather… _eventful_ summer?" Although her words were tinged with amusement, her smile was kind.

Harry nodded in response. "Yeah, it's been a little bit too crazy for my liking." Professor McGonagall chuckled as he asked, "I hope you're well?"

"I am indeed, thank you for asking." She replied. "I trust that you've not been neglecting your homework, despite all of the excitement?" She asked, pulling a wry smile.

"For you, Professor? Of course," Harry answered, drawing a laugh from the Transfiguration teacher before she walked off towards the Alley entrance, shaking her head and muttering about "teenagers and their cheek".

* * *

As the day of Ron and Hermione's arrival drew closer, Harry started to get nervous. Although he'd been able to sound exactly as thirteen-year-old Harry Potter should in his letters, he'd had time to vet his words, and get them onto the page just right. How was he going to cope in a full conversation? How was he going to be able to keep it that way for the next year? The questions reverberated in his mind as the days passed, and the night before their arrival, Harry found himself sitting on the bed, thinking about the last time he'd seen them.

* * *

 _Harry ducked under the hex Ron had thrown at him, the spell ripping a small hole in the wall of the tent. Bringing his wand up, he was about to retaliate when a shimmering wall of magic formed between the two._

 _"Both of you,_ _ **calm down!**_ _" Hermione screeched over Harry and Ron's yelling, forcing more magic into the shield as it began to crackle and pulse. Both men ignored her, keeping their wands trained on each other. Ron snarled and loosed another curse, the spell letting off a brilliant flash of red light when it crashed into the shield with a_ _ **bang**_ _._

 _"Come on, then!" Harry roared, his heart thumping in his ears as he shook with rage. "You think you can take me on? Let's go!"_

 _"I know I can, Harry!" Ron retorted angrily. "I've trained just as much as you have!" His face was contorted with fury, his eyes blazing as he continued. "You're always_ _ **so**_ _focused on_ _ **your bloody mission,**_ _" Ron spat out, in a voice laced with spite, "it's like you don't even_ _ **care**_ _what happens to the resistance!"_

 _Harry paused, stunned at his friend's words. "How_ _ **dare**_ _you," he hissed. "You think I don't care what happens to them? You think_ _ **I**_ _ **don't care**_ _what happens to Sirius, to Ginny?_ _ **I spend every day worrying that they'll die!**_ _" Spittle was flying out of his mouth as he shouted through the magical shield. "The only way anyone lives through this is if we find the Horcruxes and destroy them!_ _ **You know that, Ron!**_ _"_

 _Ron sneered, his expression uncharacteristically cold. "Yeah, because_ _ **everyone**_ _is going to live through this, aren't they, Harry?" He sucked in a shuddering breath, his wand hand shaking with anger. "_ _ **My Dad's dead, Harry! So are Percy, and Fred and George!**_ _How many more of my family are going to die around you, Harry, while you're too busy trying to save the world!?"_

 _Hermione gasped in shock. "Ron, you don't mean that!" She cried out._

 _"Of course he does," Harry spat venomously. "You've_ _ **never**_ _realised what's at stake here, have you, Ron?" He asked sarcastically. "This isn't about you_ _ **or**_ _me. It's about the future! Do you honestly think that if you'd all kept your heads down, you'd still be alive?! Malfoy would've killed you all for_ _ **sport!**_ _Or are you just that_ _ **cowardly**_ _that you won't fight for what's right?"_

 _Ron's face turned brick red at Harry's insult, before he bellowed back. "Coward?_ _ **Coward!?**_ _I've fought against You-Know-Who-"_

 _"_ _ **His name is**_ _ **Voldemort!**_ _" Harry shouted, and stopped, his expression rising in shock when he realised his mistake._

 _The tell-tale_ _ **crack**_ _of Apparition was heard outside the tent, and Harry whirled about, his anger forgotten as he yelled over his shoulder to Hermione._

 _"We've got to get out of here!"_

 _Suddenly, a spell sliced through the wall of the tent, and even as Harry twisted to dodge out of its path, the bolt of energy hit his shoulder, sending him flying. He crashed into the hard wooden stairs of the tent's raised sleeping area, crying out in pain. He tried to cast a shield spell, and when nothing happened, he looked down at his hand._

 _It wasn't there._

 _Harry just stared down at his shoulder in shock, the blood pooling across his jacket as Hermione screamed, running over to him._

 _"Oh, no- oh, God- Harry, stay with me!" She cried out as she looked behind her, casting a powerful shield across the wall of the tent, the spell looking oddly bright and colourful to Harry. He felt something press into his left hand, a stick of wood. His wand._

 _Looking over, he saw Ron staring back at him, his expression grim. Harry started to feel faint, the words Ron shouted to Hermione sounding muffled and far away. He saw Hermione reach into her beaded bag, pulling out something shiny, before pressing it into Harry's palm, forcibly closing his fingers around his wand. She was turning around when Harry heard a shout and saw a flash of green light, darkness already tugging at the edges of his vision._

 _He didn't react when he saw Ron Weasley die, Hermione's blurry form rushing over to the body of his friend, screaming in despair. Even as he felt a familiar tug around his navel, another bolt of green light lanced over to Hermione, and he saw her slump over Ron's body as he disappeared in a blur of motion._

* * *

Harry grimaced to himself at the memory, quickly pinching his right hand in his left, the pain snapping him back to the present.

He looked out of the window at the darkened street outside, breathing deeply until his heart rate calmed.

 _That hasn't happened yet, Harry._ A voice in the back of his mind said. _And we won't let it._

Harry lay back down on the bed, and soon fell asleep, his dreams awash with the cracking of spell-fire, and blasts of bright, green light.

* * *

Harry decided to get up early, heading down to the bar for breakfast while he awaited the arrival of his friends. He was on his second cup of tea when the street entrance of the pub opened and he heard someone shout his name. Standing up, he saw a blur of movement before he was engulfed in a tight hug, Hermione Granger's bushy brown hair nearly ending up in his mouth as she embraced him.

"Hi there, Hermione." Harry said as he squeezed her tightly.

Stepping back, she grabbed her trunk (which she'd left standing a few feet away), brought it over and then immediately threw herself down in the chair opposite Harry's, a large smile on her face.

"Oh, Harry, it's so good to see you!" She said happily, before immediately firing off a mass of questions about Harry's fight with Uncle Vernon, and whether he'd found somewhere to live, and if he'd done his homework or not. She barely seemed to take a breath and Harry laughed, holding up his hands in mock-surrender.

"Whoa, whoa, Hermione!" He said, chortling. "One question at a time, please."

"Oh…" Hermione's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, before she asked again. "So, Harry, what happened with your uncle? Are you alright?"

Harry smiled at his friend's concern. "I'm okay, Hermione. Well, what happened is…" he launched into a more detailed explanation of what happened, but still kept to his cover story about his and Vernon's argument – he'd decided that they'd argued after Harry had accidentally let Marge see Hedwig that evening, and that Vernon had flown into a rage and kicked Harry out. By the time he'd finished, Hermione looked shocked.

"Oh Harry, that's _awful!_ " She said, Harry half-expecting she'd get out of her chair and give him another bone-crushing hug.

"As for my homework, I've finished it all up – I haven't had much to do here for the last few weeks." Harry said, this time being wholly honest.

Hermione looked at him in surprise for a moment. "Really? Do you mind if I take a look at it sometime?" She asked.

Harry nodded. "Of course! I'm sure you'll be able to find _something_ that I've done wrong." He replied with a cheeky grin, earning him a pout from Hermione. "Anyway, how was your summer? Did you enjoy France?" He asked.

Hermione smiled, and immediately began a very in-depth retelling of her holiday, talking almost continuously for the next half an hour or so. She'd just finished up telling Harry about her trip to the Louvre when several redheaded wizards all stumbled out of the fireplace, one after the other. Any doubt as to who they might be was driven from Harry's mind when the shortest of the boys swore loudly as he tripped over, still dizzy from the Floo network.

"Bloody hell!" Ron Weasley said loudly, before getting to his feet and looking around the pub. Spotting Harry, he quickly walked over, a large smile on his face. "Harry, mate! Good to see you!" Harry stood, grinning, and engulfed Ron in a strong hug, before Ron turned to Hermione and did the same. He was about to sit down when a voice called out from the group.

"Ron, dear, you need to take your trunk up to yours and Percy's room." Molly Weasley said, Ron turning and grumbling under his breath as he snatched up his trunk, following his older brother up the stairs to the rooms.

The rest of the Weasley children soon followed, with Fred and George greeting Harry simultaneously as they took their luggage upstairs. When Mrs. Weasley came over, she quickly embraced the teenager in a protective – and alarmingly strong – hug.

"Harry, dear, I heard about what happened at your guardians' house. I'm glad you're alright." She said as she continued to crush the life out of him. Letting go and seeming satisfied at his quick nod of confirmation, she turned and called over her shoulder.

"Come on, Ginny, this way."

Harry did his best to look calm as a small girl with fiery red hair carried her own trunk up the stairs after Molly, shooting Harry a shy smile as she walked past.

Harry stared after her for a moment, lost in thought.

He knew she was alive. He'd known that since he'd returned. But to see her, real, in front of him, and not as some kind of awful hallucination left him slightly rattled. He snapped quickly out of it however when he saw Arthur approach, looking cheerful. Shaking the Weasley patriarch's hand strongly, Harry and Arthur sat down at the table.

"Harry," he nodded to the teenager, "Hemione. It's good to see you both – I hope the summer's been kind to you?" He asked, giving Harry a significant glance that confirmed he knew about Privet Drive. Hermione gave a short description of her holiday, and Arthur was very impressed with the tales about the plane journey there and back, and asked Hermione more than a few questions about muggle technology. After a little while though, he shot Harry an important look before turning to Hermione.

"Hermione, I'm sorry about this, but would it be alright if I could have a few words with Harry alone?" He asked, the witch reddening slightly and nodding, stating that she needed to take her own things upstairs anyway. After she left, Arthur turned back to Harry and sighed slightly.

"Sorry for breaking up our conversation like that – but I needed to talk to you, Harry." He said, his tone serious.

"That's alright, Mr. Weasley," Harry replied, "what did you want to talk about?"

"I heard about what happened at Privet Drive, Harry." Arthur stated, before noticing the guilty expression on Harry's face. "It's alright, I'm sure that you didn't do anything wrong." He said, trying to reassure the teenager – not that Harry needed any reassurance.

"I wanted to talk to you about Sirius Black," he continued. "I heard that the Minister came to visit you a week or so ago? I assume he's given you the rough story on Black." Harry nodded his assent. "Good, good. Now, Harry – I know that I'm not your parent, but I must ask you to be extra careful this year at Hogwarts, and not to take any unnecessary risks.

"Black is a very dangerous man, Harry, and you mustn't put yourself in harm's way. Your life is in danger already with him on the loose, and I want you to swear that whatever you might hear, that you _won't go looking for Black._ "

Harry nodded, but did his best to look confused. "If Black wants me dead, Mr. Weasley, why would I go looking for him?"

Arthur just continued to look at Harry expectantly, not answering his question. Harry sighed before responding.

"Alright, I swear I won't go looking for Black."

"Good lad." Arthur smiled and clapped Harry on the shoulder, before standing up and heading upstairs, leaving a bemused – and slightly irritated – Harry sitting alone at the table.


	13. Friends and Foes, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello everyone - sorry this update took a few days. I've been suffering from a bit of writer's block for chapter fourteen. That said, two days ago (December 6th), I'll Keep Coming hit 100 Followers! I never imagined it could get this large so quickly - it's only been just over a month since chapter one! Thank you, all of you, for your support!**

 **Enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry, Ron and Hermione were walking down the main high street, enjoying an ice cream cone each from _Fortescue's_ , the warm afternoon sunshine baking down on Diagon Alley.

"So, your uncle just kicked you out?" Ron asked, a look of disbelief on his face. "Over Hedwig? Just like that?"

Harry nodded, taking a small bite of his ice cream.

"Mental." Ron remarked, making Harry grin.

"Honestly, Ron, this is serious!" Hermione chastised, although Harry could see her lips twitching slightly.

"On the subject of serious…" Harry started, "did you guys hear about Sirius Black?"

Hermione sighed in exasperation at the pun, but nodded. Ron's smile quickly vanished, his expression grim.

"Mum nearly had a fit when she heard that he escaped from Azkaban," he said quietly.

Hermione let out a small huff. "My parents only found out from the muggle news, and those bulletins were less than useless. They didn't say anything about where he'd escaped from, or even what he'd done." She added, incensed.

"Really?" Ron asked, surprised. "You'd think the Ministry would tell the muggles _something_."

Harry scoffed at that. "How would the Ministry tell the muggles that a crazed mass-murderer had escaped custody after keeping his crimes secret for so long? I bet the Prime Minister had kittens when he found out about all this.

"You'd think, though, that there would at least be wizard records of his trial." Harry stated, almost nonchalantly.

Hermione turned to him in shock, her ice cream hovering halfway to her mouth. "What?" She choked out.

Harry looked at her, quickly putting on a puzzled expression. "I'm not absolutely sure yet, but I've been browsing back issues of the _Prophet_ at _Flourish & Blotts_. Although reports on his arrest and imprisonment for the murder of Peter Pettigrew and those twelve muggles are easy to find, I've not found _anything_ about a trial."

Hermione frowned, deep in thought, before shaking her head and taking a bite of ice cream. "I'm sure they had a trial, Harry. There's just _no way_ they'd lock someone up in Azkaban without being sure of their guilt."

Harry decided to go the jugular. "Like they did with Hagrid, in second year, you mean?" Ron nodded vigorously in agreement, his cheeks bulging with ice cream before he groaned suddenly, clutching his forehead. Hermione shot the redhead a withering look, tutting loudly.

"If I remember right," Harry continued, "Fudge sent Hagrid to Azkaban because he 'needed to be seen to be doing something.' Does that sound like due process to you?" He said rather sharply as he looked at Hermione imploringly.

"Well, no- but surely-" Hermione started, before pausing and looking back at Harry, her expression significant. "Harry, why are you so interested in Black?" She asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

 _Shit._

Harry knew he'd pushed too hard. He'd almost forgotten how unusually perceptive Hermione was. But, before he could end up spluttering and giving up his intentions in spectacular fashion, Sirius' face snapped into his mind.

 _Always have a backup plan._

"Well, it's just that the day after I got here, the Minister came down to see me." Harry said quickly, Hermione's eyebrows rising in surprise as Ron choked slightly.

"Bloody hell, mate, you didn't tell us that!" The redhead exclaimed once he'd mastered his shock.

"Oh yeah, sorry." Harry replied unapologetically. "Fudge seemed horrified that I'd spent the day in muggle London, and then he confined me to the Alley until school starts. No explanation other than a small slip of the tongue where he made it sound like Black was after me." He paused dramatically before continuing. "Hermione, you remember when Mr. Weasley asked to speak to me alone?" Hermione nodded, Ron looking rapidly between the two, evidently irritated at having missed something important. "Well, he made me swear that I mustn't go looking for Black."

"Why'd Dad do that?" Ron asked incredulously. "It doesn't make any sense. You'd have to be mental to go after a nutter like Black."

Harry gestured towards Ron, keeping his eyes fixed on Hermione's. "Exactly, see? No one is telling me anything, yet they all seem to think Black is coming after me. I've been trying to find out about him, but there's not a lot in the papers that I've looked at other than his arrest.

"When I didn't find anything about a trial, it just made me more suspicious, you know?" Harry asked, trying to look more curious than anything else.

Hermione scratched her chin in thought, before sighing quietly. "I think I'm going to have to visit the Library once we're back at school."

Ron groaned loudly when Hermione mentioned the Library, making Harry grin. As they continued to wander along the sunlit street, Harry smiled to himself.

He didn't think he'd be able to cope well with seeing his best friends again, but instead it was like they'd never been apart.

God, he'd missed them.

* * *

"You know, Harry, your homework is… _surprisingly_ good." Hermione said idly as she read through Harry's Potions essay late one evening in his room at the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry, who was busy polishing the Nimbus, looked up and chuckled. "Surely that's a good thing, Hermione?"

"Well, yes- of course," Hermione replied quickly. "I'm just impressed by how much better you've gotten since last year."

"Well, the lack of ancient, lethal monsters roaming about my house did make studying a little easier than at Hogwarts." Harry said, a cheeky smile on his face.

Hermione laughed. "Yes, I'm sure it did." She replied drily.

Ron looked up from his own homework, which he was frantically writing – he'd ignored it all summer, and with the resumption of school just a few days away he'd been running himself ragged as he scribbled out essays each night.

"C'mon, Hermione!" He said pleadingly. "Harry's already done his, can't you help me with mine?"

Hermione turned to Ron, an amused expression on her face. "Tell you what, Ronald. If you agree to not be rude to Crookshanks for a fortnight, I'll help you through it."

"But…" Ron started, about to protest, before falling silent at Hermione's glare. "Alright, alright. Fine." He muttered, ashamed of being backed into a corner so easily.

Hermione shot him a toothy smile, her eyes crinkling with humour. "Excellent," she said cheerfully, before putting Harry's homework down and moving over to where Ron was sat. "Alright, Ron, let's see what you've got there, then," she said as she swept the essay out from under Ron's quill, before quickly pinching that out of Ron's hand too. Within moments she was reading through Ron's work, crossing things out every few lines or so, shaking her head and murmuring quietly.

"Thanks Hermione," Ron said loudly in an attempt to get her attention. "You're a lifesaver."

Hermione looked up from Ron's essay and just shook her head, grinning. "You shouldn't thank me yet, Ron, there's a lot to work on here." Ron groaned, putting his head in his hands. "Also," Hermione added, her smile turning cheeky, "you'll need to do better than just a thank you if you want to win Brownie points from me."

Harry laughed at that, and Ron picked up the pillow he'd been sitting on and launched it across the room at him. After narrowly dodging the projectile, he stared at Ron, his face grave.

"This means _war._ " He hissed menacingly, before grabbing one of his own pillows and levitating it.

Ron, having exhausted his one piece of ammunition, shot to his feet and dived across the room to retrieve his pillow, Harry beating him about the head repeatedly with his own.

"Argh! Gerrof!" Ron yelled as he flailed his arms uselessly over his head. Harry just continued to swish his wand about, chortling, as the pillow smacked into Ron's face with a soft _whump_.

Levitating his own pillow, Ron proceeded to engage Harry in a furious duel, each swearing loudly to defeat the other and protect Hermione's honour in increasingly flamboyant ways. Hermione clutched her sides with laughter as she watched their bout unfold, Ron's essay forgotten.

By the time Ron had been forced to yield – having been attacked by a squad of Harry's pillows, quilt and several pairs of socks – at least one pillow had ruptured and feathers were strewn across the floor. Deeming honour satisfied, Harry cast a quick **_Reparo_** , the feathers returning to their cases and the stitching sewing tightly back up by itself. Ron sat back down tiredly next to Hermione, a grin on his face.

Harry, Ron and Hermione traded glances for a moment, before falling once more into peals of laughter, tears in their eyes. They were found like that by a rather bewildered-looking Fred and George nearly twenty minutes later.

* * *

The rest of the week at Diagon Alley passed quickly for Harry. He'd underestimated how much he'd enjoy the company of Ron and Hermione, and at times was nearly able to forget about everything else. Unfortunately, he saw Pettigrew several times throughout the week (Ron had taken to carrying him a lot after Crookshanks had nearly killed the rat one night). Whenever he saw the rat bastard, Harry's hands would flex involuntarily, and he'd had to restrain himself several times from grabbing Pettigrew and Apparating straight to the DMLE. Each time, he had to mentally admonish himself, and repeat one sentence in his head like a mantra.

 _Stick to the plan._

However, there was one other thing that sat very uneasily in the pit of his stomach.

He'd known since he'd first considered seeing Ron and Hermione again that he'd have to lie, but to actually do so was another matter. In the future, he'd certainly kept secrets, but he'd never lied so thoroughly to either of them.

The way he pretended to be 'just Harry', the person they knew, made him feel like some kind of fraud each time they smiled at him, warmth and kindness on their faces. Whilst a part of him craved their companionship more than he could say, another was warring with him, focused on the one thing that really mattered – the mission. Often, he'd catch himself looking at his two friends, trying to memorise their features, as if he'd never see them again.

Harry slept poorly for the remainder of his time at the Leaky Cauldron, his dreams disturbed and conflicted, yet vanishing like wisps of smoke whenever he awoke.

* * *

"Keep up, Ron, we're already running late!" Molly called out behind her as the Weasleys, plus Harry and Hermione, quickly approached the barrier between platforms nine and ten at King's Cross Station – the hidden entrance to platform nine-and-three-quarters, where the Hogwarts Express waited to take the students to school.

"Alright, Mum, alright!" Ron replied loudly, running a little to catch his trolley up to the others from where he'd been lagging behind.

"Okay, Ginny – you, Dad and I will go through first." Molly said to her daughter before looking over at Percy. "Percy, you'd better come through next, they'll need you on the train." The curly-haired boy nodded, his horn-rimmed glasses flashing in the sunlight. "Now," Molly turned to the assembled group, "you all follow after Percy." Fred and George whispered to each other, sniggering, but Harry, Ron and Hermione nodded.

"Right then, quickly now, off we go!" Molly said before walking with Ginny and Arthur through the barrier, disappearing the moment they passed through the bricks. Percy followed immediately after, casting an angry glare at Fred and George, who had charmed his new Head Boy badge to read 'BigHead Boy' earlier in the week. The twins went next, Harry, Ron and Hermione hot on their heels.

Emerging onto the platform Harry paused and once again marvelled at the beauty of the Express, the scarlet steam engine as gleaming and pristine as it had been in his first year, when everything was wondrous and beautiful. The platform was heaving with people, and the trio had to try and weave their way through the crowds to the train. They'd just managed to climb on when the conductor blew his whistle, the three leaning out of the window to wave at Molly and Arthur as the train pulled away.

Working their way through the carriages, they finally found a (mostly) free compartment towards the middle of the train, with a sole occupant.

Harry smiled to himself as he recognised the shabbily-dressed stranger, sleeping in the corner by the window.

 _The more things change, the more they stay the same._

"Who d'you think that is?" Ron asked once he'd stowed his trunk.

"Professor R. J. Lupin." Hermione replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Just how is it that you know _everything_ , Hermione?" Ron responded in disbelief.

"It's on his suitcase, Ronald." She answered somewhat tiredly.

"Oh." Ron grunted in reply.

Harry just grinned at the exchange, stowing his own trunk on the overhead racks before sitting down with a sigh. He did his best to appear relaxed, but unfortunately, he knew what was likely going to happen today, on the train.

 _Dementors._

* * *

In the future, the Dementors had gotten completely out of control, breeding freely and spreading colonies up and down the country. Eventually, Voldemort had to turn on them, as although they were incredibly useful in combat and in keeping the population unable to resist him, the continual exposure was beginning to drive his Ministry personnel insane. With the population loss Magical Britain had sustained over the years, as well as the exodus and purges of muggle-borns, any losses to his regime were felt severely. After months of bitter warfare against the foul creatures, the Dark Lord finally managed to banish them to Azkaban island, where they resided and – far outweighing their meagre supply of memories on which to feed – starved in their thousands.

It was perhaps the one thing Harry didn't mind about Voldemort's new world order, he thought grimly.

As such, it had been years since Harry had even _seen_ a Dementor, let alone felt the effects of one. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what to expect from the coming attack – and that worried him greatly.

Luckily, he had Ron and Hermione to help keep his mind off it, and after a few games of wizard's chess against Ron (who thrashed him soundly), Harry's worries were firmly locked away at the back of his mind, at least for the time being.

* * *

They were brought out of their fun by the sound of the compartment door sliding open, and looking up, Harry saw perhaps the three people that he least wanted to see standing confidently in the doorway.

"Well, well, well," Draco Malfoy drawled, a superior smirk on his face. "If it isn't," he pointed exaggeratedly at Harry, Ron and Hermione in turn, "the Orphan, the Pauper and the Mudblood." His two goons, Crabbe and Goyle, grunted with something that was just barely discernible as laughter. Ron shot to his feet, his ears red from anger as Hermione glared at Malfoy. Before either could open their mouths, however, Harry decided to step in. Still sitting on the seat, he looked at the blonde ponce, a distinctly bored expression on his face.

"Well done, you inbred twit," Harry drawled in a passable imitation of Draco's own voice. "Did it take you all summer to come up with that one? Oh, what am I saying?" He continued rhetorically. "Of course _you_ didn't come up with it. We all know you've only got slightly more brains than both of your… _girlfriends._ " He sneered as he gestured to Crabbe and Goyle, the two thugs looking puzzled.

 _Probably wondering if they've just been insulted. I'd completely forgotten those two were this stupid._

Ron choked at Harry's insult, a grin already working its way onto his face. Hermione just stared at Harry in shock, ignoring Malfoy completely.

Draco paled, and his fingers twitched towards his trouser pocket, where Harry knew he kept his wand. Pre-empting the seemingly inevitable exchange of spells, Harry quickly stood, his wand sliding neatly into his hand from his sleeve. Malfoy's own hand was halfway into his pocket when he found himself staring down the point of Harry's wand, the black-haired teenager already grinning, baring far too many teeth for it to be friendly.

"If you'd like to spend the Sorting with antlers and unable to stop tap-dancing, feel free to try me." Harry spoke in a low, confident tone, his eyes cold and threatening. "Otherwise, I suggest you do the same as Lucius did when a House-Elf kicked his arse, and kindly _piss off._ "

Malfoy slowly moved his hand away from his pocket, before sneering and storming off, muttering to himself as Crabbe and Goyle followed in his wake. Harry gently closed the door after them, before sitting back down, chuckling at Draco's stupidity. Ron looked at him in awe.

"That was _bloody_ brilliant, mate!" He exclaimed. "I wish I'd gotten a photograph of the ponce's face." He said wistfully.

Harry snorted with laughter, and – he was relieved to see – even Hermione was giggling a little. The train thundered onwards, and their conversation quickly shifted towards the coming year, and what they could all expect (more than a few Divination-related jokes were made there).

* * *

It was nearing the evening when Harry stood up and headed to the bathroom at the end of the carriage. The weather had worsened considerably, and rain now drummed heavily on the windows as the train sped onwards. On his way back, a door opened next to him unexpectedly and he bumped into whoever stepped out. Turning around to apologise, Harry found Ginny looking back at him, blushing furiously.

"S-sorry, Harry." She squeaked, breaking eye contact and looking at her shoes.

"That's alright, Ginny." Harry replied kindly. "It was my fault, anyway – I should've been looking where I was going."

Ginny looked up at that, likely about to protest, before she seemed to think better of it. Turning away, she started to walk down the carriage, before stopping, and looking back at him.

"Um, Harry?" She asked, her voice a near-whisper.

"Hmm?" Harry responded, trying not to look surprised – he'd realised with disappointment back at Diagon Alley that Ginny hadn't yet gotten over her shyness around him, often turning red and not meeting his eyes whenever they ended up in the same room. She'd had barely said a word to him all week. In fact, he was pretty sure she hadn't said _anything_ at all.

"Um," she started, looking incredibly unsure of herself. She stalled for a moment, taking a deep breath before rapidly spilling out, "thanksforthinkingofmeinyourletter." She suddenly let out a gasp of surprise – as if she hadn't meant to say anything – and took off at a run down the carriage, disappearing quickly from sight.

"You're welcome… Ginny." Harry said quietly to the empty air as he stared after her.

A part of him was screaming to go and find her, to tell her something, _anything_ – whatever it took to make her smile again. His feet had already carried him a few steps when he stopped, pinching himself.

 _She's not the same Ginny you remember_ , a voice shouted over the din of his thoughts. _You know that you can't involve her in this. If you really want her back, you need to let her do it in her own time._

Shaking his head roughly and snapping back to the present, Harry slowly made his way back to his compartment.

* * *

When the train suddenly lurched to halt, Harry knew what was about to happen, a sinking feeling in his gut. Even as Ron picked himself up off of the floor from where he'd fallen, swearing loudly, Harry gripped his wand tightly.

 _No_ , a voice in the back of his mind said firmly. _You can't cast a_ _ **Patronus**_ _, you'll give yourself away._

Harry fought with the voice for a few silent moments before he realised that it was right, painstakingly sliding his wand into the pocket of his jeans so that he wouldn't lose it.

"We can't be there already?" Hermione asked, a hint of worry in her voice.

"I don't think so," Harry added, before the light in the compartment flickered out, submerging them in darkness.

Ron looked out of the window. "There's something out there," he whispered, his voice wavering. The downpour hammered against the window like the beating of a snare drum as the three sat in silence.

And then, it happened. A wave of sudden, icy cold swept the length of the carriage, the darkness somehow becoming thicker, inky and impenetrable. As the three sat, their breath coming out in little puffs of vapour, Harry saw the eerily-flowing cloak of the Dementor through the door.

The lock clicked, and the door slid open, screeching awfully in its rails as a spindly, decaying hand gripped the doorframe.

The Dementor swept into the room, its aura making Harry feel like he was being drowned in freezing water, his lungs seizing as he started to hyperventilate. A rushing, roaring sound thundered in his ears, and his vision went black as he pitched forward.

Harry collapsed on the floor of the compartment, and knew no more.


	14. Homecoming, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **And chapter fourteen arrives!**

 **Once again, I'd like to express my thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited or reviewed this story, so thanks!**

 **Please, enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

 _Harry sprinted up the path, the gravel crunching loudly beneath his feet. The forest on either side crackled and swayed, the trees seeming to twist in the dark and loom over him like the jaws of a hungry beast. He thudded onwards, his heart hammering in his chest._

 _He ran along the covered bridge, the floor splintered and broken, sections of the roof destroyed and on fire. The acrid taste of smoke permeated the air, along with the coppery tang of blood and the sickening smell of burning flesh._

 _As soon as he reached the courtyard, the castle standing above, burning hot in its death, he knew it was over._

 _Numbly, he stumbled forwards, his feet scuffing on the rubble. His eyes flicked over the devastation, and odd jolt running through his heart every time he saw someone he recognised. It was then, atop the rubble in the centre of the courtyard and surrounded by bodies, he saw his world break apart._

 _Lying still, her face peaceful as though she were only asleep, was Ginny._

 _Harry didn't even feel the wand fall from his fingers, the stick of wood clattering deafeningly on the rubble despite the roaring fires above. He didn't notice when he started walking, his feet carrying him forward despite his sudden impulse to run, to simply run and never stop. He barely registered the lurch in balance as he collapsed to his knees next to her._

 _He noticed how the fire glinted off of her red hair, shining like a pool of rubies in the darkness. He recognised the calm expression on her face, remembering it from when she lay on the pillow next to his. He saw the dark patches of blood that stained her blouse, and the dust and grime that were spread all over her clothes. He felt, all to sharply, the cool of her skin beneath his fingers as he stroked the hair out of her face. He thought about how light he she was, when he lifted her up in his one arm, and cradled her to him tightly._

 _He felt the tears run down his face uncontrollably, dripping from his chin onto her lap._

 _But none of that mattered, because his Ginny was dead._

 _An awful, keening cry crept up from Harry's lungs, and before he knew it, he was screaming in anguish and despair, the pain tearing him asunder as he cried out his loss to the sky, the cold stars glittering above as the embers of the inferno flickered and died under their gaze._

 _Everything blacked out, as if smothered in a tide of darkness, before it all snapped back into focus._

 _Harry sprinted up the path, the gravel crunching loudly beneath his feet…_

* * *

Remus Lupin hurtled up the path to the castle, his stiff joints screaming in protest, the teenager floating silently alongside him under an **_Impervius Charm_** as the icy rain drove downwards, soaking the older man thoroughly but simply rolling off of his charge, keeping the teenager dry.

He'd been asleep, tired after travelling to London for the Express, when the Dementors attacked. The sudden freezing cold of the Dementor's presence in the compartment had woken him. Even as someone crumpled to the floor in the dark, crashing painfully into his shins, he had drawn his wand and performed the **_Patronus Charm_** , the bright white of the spell forcing the creature from the train. As warmth flooded the compartment in its wake he'd directed the **_Patronus_** to clear the other carriages, the lights flickering on after a moment.

Looking down to see who'd collapsed, his breath caught in his throat when he saw a boy with round glasses and unruly black hair. Rolling the teenager onto his back he recognised the lightning-bolt scar on his forehead. It was when Remus tried to wake Harry with **_Rennervate_** , and the teenager remained unresponsive, that his panic became acute.

He'd quickly ordered the two in the compartment – Harry's friends – to tell the driver that one of the students had collapsed, and that he'd take Harry ahead to the Hospital Wing, and return shortly. Placing his hand on the teenager's chest, Remus Disapparated from the compartment, appearing outside the gates to the grounds. He levitated Harry, who was now alarmingly pale, before sprinting to the castle as fast as his legs could carry him.

He raised his wand to the sky as he ran. " ** _Periculum!_** " He yelled loudly, the red sparks shooting like a flare high above the grounds, lighting his approach towards the castle.

As he neared the main doors to the Entrance Hall they swung open, revealing Professor Dumbledore, the old man's look of surprise turning quickly to shock at the sight of his new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, drenched from the rain, levitating Harry Potter in tow. Dumbledore mastered his shock and his mouth set into a grim line as he turned, leading the way to the Hospital Wing.

"What happened?" He barked to Remus as they took the steps of the Grand Staircase two at a time.

"Dementors, Albus." Lupin responded quickly as they neared the Fourth Floor.

"The other students?" Dumbledore asked, his tone concerned.

"I drove the Dementors from the train, but I didn't have a chance to check before taking Harry here." Lupin said, before immediately realising with a shock that he'd left the students on the train, defenceless. Dumbledore was one step ahead, however.

"Fawkes!" He shouted, the Phoenix appearing next to them in a flash of bright flames, flying alongside them to keep pace. "Take Minerva and Filius to the Express, now." The Phoenix trilled in response before vanishing.

As they threw open the doors to the Hospital Wing, the matron, Madam Pomfrey, charged out of her office ready to confront whoever had just stormed in, but immediately stopped after seeing Harry. Rushing over to a bed, Remus set Harry down whilst Pomfrey twirled her wand in her hand, casting Diagnostic Charms. After a few tense, silent minutes whilst Pomfrey worked, pouring a few foul-smelling potions down the teenager's throat, she finally holstered her wand and turned to the two professors.

"He'll be alright, Albus." She said, Remus visibly sagging with relief. Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses, sighing quietly as he wiped them clean with a silk cloth.

"Thank God." The Headmaster remarked, his expression tense. "Do you know what happened, Poppy?" He asked, turning to the matron, who nodded.

"It looks like a simple, but _severe_ reaction to the Dementors. You did the right thing getting him here, Remus. I've never seen a reaction this bad." She stated.

Remus' head shot up. " _A reaction?_ " He asked incredulously. "After he collapsed I tried to revive him, and he wouldn't wake. What on earth could provoke such a severe reaction in a _child?_ "

Pomfrey frowned at the professor, irritated. "We all know that Mister Potter has had no small amount of tragedy in his life, Remus." The Defence Professor paused, his expression turning ashen as he responded.

"I-I know, but surely… _Merlin._ " He breathed, before staggering over to a nearby chair and dropping his face into his hands.

Pomfrey turned to Dumbledore. "Although he'll definitely be fine physically, Albus, I'd like to keep him here tonight for observation. Whatever the Dementors have made him see, it might have psychological effects when he wakes."

Dumbledore sighed again, before nodding his assent. "I turn the boy over to your expert care then, Poppy. Please keep me informed of Harry's condition." Turning about, he strode from the Hospital Wing, Remus following in his wake. As the two walked silently down the corridor, Remus turned to Dumbledore.

"Some Defence Professor I am." Remus said dejectedly before turning to the Headmaster. "I'm sorry, Albus. I should've checked the other students, I should've-" he started, before Dumbledore cut him off with a gesture, coming to a halt and gently gripping the younger man's shoulder as he looked into his eyes.

"You've done nothing wrong, Remus. Your quick thinking may well have saved Harry's life." He said firmly, but with a kind smile on his face. "Minerva and Filius can see the students safely to school. I suggest you head to your office on the Third Floor and take a few minutes to collect yourself and dry off. You can join me downstairs in the Great Hall once you're ready." Remus nodded, before the two walked back to the Grand Staircase.

* * *

Harry blearily opened his eyes. He was somewhere warm, and comfortable, lying down. He tried to look around, but everything was blurry without his glasses. Instead, he listened intently for a moment, trying to identify his surroundings with sound.

 _Nothing. Wait…_

Now that he was focused, he could hear the faint _scratch_ of a quill on parchment. Slightly muffled, as if behind a door, but it was definitely there. He tried to move, but he could barely lift his own weight.

He felt vulnerable.

Exposed.

"H-hello?" He rasped out as loudly as he could manage, his throat dry and scratchy. "Is anyone there?"

The noise stopped, and Harry heard a door open as footsteps drew closer. A blurry, white-clad figure leaned over him. He thought he recognised them, but he couldn't tell.

"Mister Potter?" Madam Pomfrey asked, Harry's brain going into overdrive after he recognised her voice.

 _Pomfrey? That means Hospital Wing. Which means…_

Memories of the Dementor attack flooded back to Harry in an instant. How he'd holstered his wand and let the icy chill drag him under. How he must have collapsed. How-

 _The memory. Over and over._

 _Ginny…_

Harry's eyes burned as tears ran gently down his face as he remembered what he'd been forced to see. He couldn't even wipe them off, he was so weak.

Suddenly he felt himself being gently lifted upright, pillows being piled behind him so he could sit up. A mug of something hot was pressed to his lips as he felt his glasses being carefully returned to his face, everything snapping into focus.

"It's hot chocolate, Mister Potter. Drink up, you'll feel better." Madam Pomfrey said kindly, tilting the mug slightly so that a little of the thick, rich drink could pour down Harry's throat. As soon as the chocolate touched his tongue, Harry started to feel his strength return. The warmth of the drink flooded down into his chest as he swallowed it, burning away the cold and weakness that gripped him and sending jolts of energy into his limbs and extremities.

"That's it, Mister Potter," Pomfrey encouraged, tilting the mug away a moment so Harry could take a shuddering breath before continuing to drink the hot chocolate.

After a minute or so, the mug was drained, and Harry shifted himself into a more comfortable position. He looked to the bedside table, and was relieved to see his wand lying on it. He turned to Madam Pomfrey, screwing up his face a little to look confused.

"…What happened to me?" He asked hesitantly.

"When the Dementors boarded the train, you had a severe reaction to their presence, Mister Potter." Pomfrey replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "Luckily, you were sharing a compartment with our new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin. He drove the creature away and attempted to revive you and, seeing that you were unresponsive, took you straight to me."

Harry paused.

 _If Lupin left the train with me, what happened to the rest of the students? To Ron, Hermione and Ginny?_

"Do you know if anyone else was affected?" Harry asked.

Pomfrey shook her head before replying. "You were the only one that was brought to me, Mister Potter. Professor Dumbledore dispatched the staff to the train once you arrived." She pulled a wry smile. "Although, normally I don't see you until _after_ the school year starts."

"Yeah, sorry about that." Harry responded sheepishly, scratching the back of his head. "How long was I out?" He realised he was currently in pyjamas, instead of the jeans and t-shirt he'd been wearing on the train. He must have been changed after he was taken to the Hospital Wing.

"About five hours." Pomfrey answered. "You've unfortunately already missed the sorting, and you're to stay here until tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded, in no position to argue.

"I'd like to speak to you tomorrow about how you feel," Pomfrey stated. Harry looked at her, nonplussed. "Dementors are terrible creatures, Mister Potter. They feed on our good memories and at the same time force us to relive our worst. Although the physical damage they cause is fairly straightforward to remedy," she gestured to the empty mug in her hand, "the shock of such an event can be quite traumatic. As such, I'd like to make sure there are no lingering effects before I discharge you from my care. Now, try and get some sleep." She said as she removed some of the pillows propping Harry up, gently laying him back on down on the bed. She took off his glasses, and put them neatly next to his wand on the bedside table.

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Harry murmured, fatigue already tugging at him, his eyelids drooping closed. Within a few moments, he was peacefully asleep.

* * *

Harry felt a weight settle by his legs, the presence drawing him out of his slumber. Opening his eyes, he realised with a start that it was still dark in the Hospital Wing. Lifting his head, he saw a blurry figure sitting on his bed, looking at him.

He didn't need his glasses to recognise her.

He immediately reached over to the bedside table, grabbing for his wand. His stomach plummeted when he couldn't feel it under his fingers.

 _WHERE IS IT?_

"Let me help you, love." Ginny said, gently pushing his glasses onto his face. As everything came into focus, Harry looked over the bedside table.

His wand wasn't on it.

"Looking for this?" Ginny asked, twirling the stick of holly in one of her hands.

"Give that to me. Now." Harry ordered, his voice firm.

"And what will you do if I don't?" Ginny replied, a coy smile on her face. "Pry it from my fingers?" She scoffed. "No, I think I'll keep this while we talk."

"Talk, about what?" Harry asked shortly.

"Your return to Hogwarts didn't go to plan, did it?" She remarked idly, ignoring Harry's question. "I mean, you were expecting the Dementors, but _this?_ " She gestured to the darkened Hospital Wing. "Things are moving faster than you can control. They've changed since the last time. You're no longer the conductor of this orchestra, Harry."

"What happened yesterday doesn't change anything, Gin." Harry said quickly.

She looked at him sharply, her eyes alight with silent laughter. "How could you possibly know that? You think that you've left the past – or should I say, _the future_ – behind. You think that it can't reach you through the veils of time." She sighed, her expression turning sad as she examined him. "All of these walls, Harry. Walls within walls. They can't protect you from what you've seen and done. The Dementor attack is proof of that.

"You're trying to control the flow of the river, love, without realising you're already swept up in it. If you carry on like this, you'll drown for sure."

"Is that why you're here?" Harry asked, his voice biting and sarcastic. "To warn me off of this? I hate to break it to you, but I'm here now and I'm not interested in going back."

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "You've got so much conviction when you see me, Harry. I know how scared you _really_ are. I'm not trying to get you to stop-"

"Really?" Harry cut her off. "That's certainly what it sounds like."

"-I'm trying," Ginny continued as if she hadn't been interrupted, "to get you to _see._ " The last word was spoken imploringly, her sudden, pleading tone snapping Harry out of his anger for a moment.

"You've carried your pain for so long, love." She said quietly. "It follows you wherever you go. You nearly understood in our first conversation. You were _so close!_ " She spat bitterly. "The future – with all of its joy and its sorrow, is a part of you as surely as I am. _And you're hiding from it instead, even when it breaks down your door._ "

Harry stared at her incredulously. "I'm not hiding," he answered, his rage rearing its head again as his tone became harsher. "Nor am I running like you accused me of the last time you saw me. I've made a decision, and I'm moving forward." He glared at the redhead, his expression hard.

"If that were certain, I wouldn't be here." She said simply, by way of reply. "Before I go, I'll ask you another question.

"How can you be sure that you're the one who's moving, Harry, and that everything else isn't moving around you instead?"

Harry blinked, confused, and in the instant his eyes were closed he felt Ginny's weight on his bed disappear. Looking around, he saw that once again, he was alone. He looked to the bedside table, and saw his wand sat on it just as it had been before he went to sleep. He snatched it up, pointing it frantically at the shadowy corners of the room.

 _No one. I'm alone._

He settled back on his pillows, his thoughts racing.

 _Why do I keep seeing her?_ He asked himself, the question echoing in his mind, unanswered. _How can she even be here?_

 _But she's not here,_ another voice responded. _She's dead. She died years ago at the massacre at Hogwarts. You held her body, for Christ's sake. Whatever this is, it isn't her._

His internal discussion was silenced by a single thought, loud and commanding.

 _This is irrelevant. Do not lose sight of the goal._ _ **Stay on mission.**_

Harry sighed, wiping his face in his hands. Any chance of returning to sleep had long since vanished, and he simply sat up, waiting for dawn. Only about twenty minutes or so had passed in silence before the sun broke the horizon, flooding the Hospital Wing with pink light. Harry got out of bed, and started stretching. Although he couldn't leave, he decided to some basic exercises while he waited for Madam Pomfrey to wake. Lying down on his front, his stretches finished, he began to do some press-ups.

They were hard work, and his thirteen-year-old body had considerably lower stamina than what he was used to, but he still managed to finish a short set.

* * *

After another half an hour, Madam Pomfrey quietly entered and was surprised to see the teenager awake, pacing back and forth in his pyjamas.

"Up already?" She asked, concern visible on her face.

"I couldn't sleep, Madam Pomfey." Harry replied quietly. "Nightmares, you see."

"Ah." Pomfrey muttered. With a small sigh she walked over, motioning for Harry to sit down on the bed. "Well, since you're awake, now seems as good a time as any to talk to you, Mister Potter." With a flick of her wand, a straight-backed wooden chair materialised across from Harry, which Pomfrey quickly occupied. She looked across at the teenager, examining him silently for a moment before she spoke.

"Was your nightmare related to the Dementor attack?" She asked abruptly, although her eyes were kind.

"Yes." Harry replied. "In a way."

"Do you feel any lingering cold or sadness from the Dementors?"

"No, I don't think so." Harry answered honestly – physically, he felt alright.

"That's good. If you're up to it, would you mind telling me what the Dementor made you see when it attacked?" She inquired gently.

Harry went to shake his head, but stopped himself – he needed as few questions as possible from the staff. He obviously couldn't tell the truth, but to say nothing might be dangerous. He decided to settle for a half-truth, instead.

"I didn't see anything." He started, quickly noting Pomfrey's surprise before he continued. "But I heard something." Pomfrey paused, looking at the teenager intently. "I… I think it was my mum, just before she died. I've never heard her voice before."

Pomfrey gasped quietly, before rallying herself and gently gripping Harry's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Mister Potter." She said simply, before standing up, the chair vanishing with a wave of her wand. "I'd like you to eat a little bit of this chocolate every evening for the next few days." She continued, handing Harry a large slab of Honeydukes' chocolate. "If you have any more serious nightmares or returning symptoms, come back to the Hospital Wing immediately."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Harry said, standing up and walking to the door.

"You're free to go, Mister Potter." She stated, the teenager walking out of the door a moment later.

* * *

Harry walked slowly up the Grand Staircase, staring at the hundreds of moving magical portraits that hung on every patch of wall. He realised, after leaving the Hospital Wing, that he'd never even bothered to look at most of them, and that they quickly faded into the background in the years he spent at Hogwarts.

Seeing the castle again, restored and whole, gave him a new perspective, he thought to himself as he climbed a moving staircase between the fifth and sixth floors.

The castle was more of a home to him than anywhere he'd been in his life, and yet he'd never truly appreciated it until it was gone. As such, this revelation found him examining every portrait he could see, looking through every doorway and window, studying every piece of beautiful architecture as if discovering it anew for the first time.

It was easy to think of a place like Hogwarts as eternal: ancient, yet formidable and unyielding to time or the elements. The grand towers, turrets, battlements and halls created an illusion of permanence to it, Harry thought as he reached the portrait of the Fat Lady, the entrance to Gryffindor Tower.

But it wasn't permanent. Like everything else in the world, it could be destroyed.

 _That's not going to happen this time._

It was when Harry looked up at the Fat Lady (who was sleeping) that he realised with a shock that he didn't have the new password to enter the Common Room.

"Er… excuse me?" He asked, the Lady continuing to snore lightly.

"Excuse me!" He said a little louder, his voice carrying in the large hall. The Fat Lady blearily opened her eyes, and she immediately glared at the teenager in front of her.

"What do you want, Mister Potter, waking me up at the crack of dawn!?" She retorted angrily.

"I need to get into the Tower, please." Harry replied, trying to look as innocent as possible.

The Fat Lady's eyes narrowed. " _Password?_ " She hissed.

Harry shifted on the spot. "Erm, you see- I was in the Hospital Wing last night, and I don't exactly _have_ the password-"

"Aha!" She exclaimed victoriously. "No password, _no entry!_ "

"I was attacked by _Dementors!_ " Harry insisted.

The Fat Lady scoffed. "Dementors, _hah!_ If you're going to come up with an excuse, Potter, pick one that's believable."

"It's true!" Harry half-shouted. "Hold on, if you know it's me, why don't you just let me in?" He asked incredulously.

"Because you don't have the password." The Fat Lady replied simply.

Harry's fingers twitched towards his wand, and he ruthlessly supressed the urge to blast the portrait off of the wall and break into Gryffindor Tower by himself. "Fine, then I'll just wait outside until someone lets me in!" He said sulkily.

The Fat Lady regarded him with disdain for a moment before she laid back in the painting, falling back to sleep in moments.

Harry swore profusely under his breath as he looked around. He was trapped, out on the staircase in nothing but his pyjamas.

He'd just sat down, gearing up for a long wait, when the portrait swung inwards – with a squawk of irritation from the Fat Lady – and a familiar bushy-haired girl stepped out. She let out a sudden shriek of surprise at seeing Harry sitting down, cross-legged, just outside.

"Harry!" Hermione cried out, helping the teenager to his feet and wrapping him in a tight hug. "I was just about to head over to the Hospital Wing to see you! Are you alright? What happened? I-" She started, before Harry interrupted the rush of questions with a laugh.

"I'm alright, Hermione – Pomfrey just released me." He said, chuckling. "I'd just reached the portrait when I realised I didn't have the password. It's lucky you came out when you did, I didn't fancy waiting for Peeves to find me in my pyjamas." He said, quickly darting his eyes about the large hall in case the Poltergeist was waiting nearby.

"As for what happened, the Dementor on the train hit me for six, I think." He smiled despite his evasiveness, trying to ease his friend's obvious worry. "Were you and Ron alright?" He asked quickly.

Harry missed the momentary look of confusion that flashed across Hermione's face at his response, before she nodded in answer to his question. "After Professor Lupin drove the Dementor off he tried to wake you, and when that failed he Apparated from the train. It looks like only the one Dementor boarded the train, but Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick showed up only a minute or so after Professor Lupin left with you." She suddenly sniffled, before once more throwing her arms around Harry, crushing him slightly in her embrace. "Oh, _Harry!_ When you didn't wake up I was so worried!"

Harry patted her back, laughing. "It's okay, Hermione. I'm fine now, promise!"

Hermione let out a watery chuckle herself, before releasing Harry.

"Well, if it's alright with you I should probably get back to the dormitory and get dressed." He said, blushing a little. "What's the password, by the way?"

"Oh, right, it's _Fortuna Major._ " Hermione stated, the portrait swinging open in response, the Fat Lady grumbling the entire way. The two headed into the Common Room, and Harry told Hermione to wait for him there, as he'd only be a little while.

Sneaking into the boys' dormitory, Harry grinned to himself when he recognised Ron's loud snore. Creeping over to his own four-poster bed, Harry opened his trunk and got dressed as quietly as he could manage, before casting a quick **_Scourgify_** on himself – he could shower in the evening when he got the chance.

He looked around the dormitory, as cosy and warm as he remembered, a contented smile on his face.

He was finally home.


	15. Homecoming, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Wow, milestones all around! In the last week or so, I'll Keep Coming has smashed past a whopping 75 reviews, 40 Favourites, a massive 130 Followers and (astonishingly) more than 11,000 views!**

 **Thank you, everyone, for your fantastic support!**

 **Chapter fifteen for y'all! Enjoy.**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"Alright. Shall we head down to the Great Hall? I reckon we'll be the first students there this morning." Harry said as he descended the stairs to the Common Room.

"And of course, after yesterday, the first thought on your mind is _food._ " Hermione jibed, an amused grin on her face.

"What can I say? Surprise visits from nightmare creatures from hell make me peckish." Harry retorted as he loped easily alongside Hermione towards the portrait hole.

"Prat." Hermione said, slapping Harry on the arm lightly, chuckling.

They took the Grand Staircase at an easy pace, as it was still very early in the morning. On the way down, Hermione filled Harry in on what had happened the previous evening. When the conversation turned towards Dumbledore's ominous speech, she became steadily irater. "I can't _believe_ the Ministry!" She fumed as they neared the Entrance Hall. "Forcing Dumbledore to host the Dementors here, it's mad!"

Harry nodded his head in agreement. "I understand that they want Black caught, but the Dementors proved yesterday that they don't care about attacking students."

Hermione shot a quick concerned glance to Harry at his frank description of the incident, but let it slide. "I hate to agree with what you said at Diagon Alley so quickly, but I must say it's certainly suspicious, sending so many Dementors to guard the school."

Harry turned to her, surprised.

"It just doesn't make sense, does it?" Hermione explained when she saw his face. "Why would Black head for Hogwarts? He's the most wanted man in the country – what could he _possibly_ have to gain in attacking the most secure magical site in Britain?"

Inside, a part of Harry was cheering at his friend's clever use of logic. "There's _got_ to be more to this than we're being told, that's for sure." He said quietly. The two fell into a thoughtful silence as they entered the Great Hall, the enchanted ceiling above showing a bright blue sky, with wisps of white fluffy cloud floating lazily across it.

Looking around the hall, Harry could see that it was nearly deserted this early in the morning. The Gryffindor table was empty, but there were a few upper-year students on each of the other three house tables. At the staff table at the end of the room only one teacher was present.

Professor McGonagall looked up from her breakfast and gave an approving nod to Harry and Hermione as the two sat down, taking some toast and sausages from the platters spread along the Gryffindor table.

Over the next half an hour, whilst Harry ate several plates' worth of food and Hermione was busy reading – Harry saw _Rune Dictionary_ printed on the cover – students and teachers began to filter into the Great Hall. Nearly all of the Gryffindors who arrived said hello or nodded to Harry and Hermione, but as the number of students in the hall began to swell Harry realised that many of them were, once again, staring at him and whispering. Evidently news of his hospitalisation had already spread.

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in irritation.

 _Ugh, I forgot how often I got stared at here. Hopefully it'll blow over in a few days._

He was brought out of his sulking by a familiar voice.

"Hey, Hermione, did you know if Harry got out- _Harry!_ " Ron greeted loudly after seeing Harry wave, walking over and throwing himself onto the bench next to him, pulling a whole rack of toast onto his plate. "You alright, mate?" He asked before taking a large bite.

"Yeah, I'm okay, Ron." Harry replied, grinning at Ron's ease. "Had to stay in the Hospital Wing for the night, but I headed back to Gryffindor Tower this morning." Ron paused at that, shooting Harry a confused look.

"If you're wondering why I didn't wake you up, Ron, it's because I got back to the dormitory just after six o'clock, and figured you'd enjoy snoring the house down for a few minutes longer." Harry quipped, as Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan (who'd just sat down) sniggered, before loudly comparing Ron's slumber to the sound of chainsaws or the rumble of a thunderstorm. Ron responded by throwing some toast at them with a loud – and quite incoherent – sound of indignation.

After he'd finished his mouthful he turned to Harry, grinning, before he clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh. "Yeah, I'd say Harry's back to normal," he remarked, chuckling.

It was only a few minutes later that Professor McGonagall strode down from the staff table and began handing out schedules to the students. Ron was dismayed to see that they had History of Magic first thing, and swiftly began planning what he could do whilst Professor Binns – the astoundingly boring ghost that taught the class – would be distracted by lecturing.

Harry looked down at his own schedule, checking what else he had that day.

"Charms after History, that's not so bad." Harry said, before he suddenly sighed in frustration. "Never mind, it's with the Slytherins."

Ron audibly groaned into his glass of pumpkin juice.

"And double Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws after lunch could be tough." He added quickly, Ron groaning louder in response to facing two lessons with McGonagall, who would certainly keep the class working from start to finish.

With breakfast drawing to a close, Harry stood, before an idea suddenly popped into his mind. He looked up at the staff table, and quickly found Professor Lupin sitting, shabbily-dressed as always, towards one end of the table, enjoying a bowl of porridge. Harry told Ron and Hermione to meet him at History of Magic before he quickly walked over to the staff table.

Professor Lupin looked up when he noticed Harry approached, and smiled kindly. "It's good to see you up and about, Mister Potter." He said before taking a short sip of tea. "I hope you're feeling better?" He asked, a barely-discernible note of concern in his voice.

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir. I heard from Ron and Hermione that you were the one that brought me to the school after the Dementor attacked."

Lupin inclined his head in confirmation, but looked down at his hands nervously for a moment. "Indeed, and I'm glad you're alright. I'm…" he paused, before meeting Harry's eyes, "…sorry that I wasn't aware of the attack sooner. I might have prevented what happened to you had I not been asleep."

Harry grinned in response. "That's alright, Professor – I was actually coming over to thank you for everything you did yesterday. Last year's Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher tried to wipe my memory, you see, so it's nice to have one in my corner for a change."

Lupin choked on his tea at Harry's casual mention of the incompetent Professor Lockhart, but chuckled after he'd finished gasping for breath. "Well, you're very welcome, Mister Potter. I look forward to seeing you in class. Now then, you'd better hurry if you want to be on time to your first lesson."

Harry recognised the polite dismissal. "Me too, Professor. Have a good day!" He called over his shoulder as he walked away from the table, heading back to Gryffindor Tower to get his bag and books.

* * *

Within minutes of arriving in Professor Binns' classroom on the Fourth Floor, Harry had completely tuned out the ghost's droning voice, staring blankly forwards into thin air. It looked like most of the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff third-years were doing the same, with the exception of Hermione of course – who was quickly writing down everything Binns said and asking the occasional question about the Goblin Rebellions they were studying.

Ron had taken to playing one-player noughts and crosses, and Harry noted with a small measure of amusement that it looked like the redhead was losing.

As he examined the scene before him with mild interest, Harry conceded with a small smile that some things just never change, unless everyone ends up dead.

Pulling out a notebook he'd bought in muggle London in the summer, Harry hunched over and began jotting down his plans for the week – he'd start exercising tomorrow, likely going for runs around the grounds and doing some basic endurance work, and he'd find an empty classroom somewhere in the evenings to practice his magic skills. He hadn't had the chance to really let loose with his wand yet, and he was looking forward to trying out a few curses. In class, however, he'd keep things under control – he couldn't risk performing N.E.W.T. grade spells where he'd be discovered.

An idea suddenly popped into his head.

In order to disguise his extensive knowledge, he should try and raise his marks in some subjects – enough to throw off the teachers, but not too many or he'd risk competing with Hermione, something he wanted to avoid at the moment. After considering the idea for a few minutes, Harry agreed to focus on Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, whilst raising his overall marks in the other subjects a little.

In the meantime, he'd try and become more friendly with Professor Lupin. In the future, Remus had been a steadfast member of the Order and subsequent resistance, at least until his death after Harry's twentieth birthday. The opportunity to strike up a proper friendship with the Werewolf could be useful. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, and before he could stop it, a memory sprung up into his mind.

* * *

 _Harry and Sirius crept up the stairs towards Remus Lupin's safe house – a small apartment on the other side of London to Grimmauld Place – with their wands raised, each breathing as quietly as they could._

 _When Sirius' brown owl (which he'd ironically named 'Blackie') crashed, wounded, into Harry's breakfast earlier that morning, Harry's godfather had suddenly gone very pale, sprinting towards the back door to Apparate away. Harry had leapt out of his chair and followed despite the others' protests, and grabbed Sirius' arm as his godfather had twisted on the spot, immediately being pulled with him as the two disappeared with a_ _ **crack.**_

 _The two had Apparated from the small back garden of Grimmauld Place, and reappeared in a back alley near to Lupin's building a moment later. Sirius had turned to Harry, a wild, deranged look in his eyes, ready to tear into him for following, before he'd slumped and simply motioned for Harry to keep pace._

 _As they climbed the stairs, the wood occasionally creaking loudly beneath their feet, they knew what they would find, but both men hoped it wouldn't be true. They reached Lupin's floor, and Sirius drew in a sharp intake of breath._

 _The front door was broken in, the bolt ripped from the doorframe – the only thing that gave it away as a magical entry were the burn marks around the edge of the lock. As Harry and Sirius climbed over the wreckage of the door, they saw the interior of the Werewolf's apartment was in total disarray – spell damage dotted all over the walls, what little furniture Lupin had was destroyed and debris littered the floor. Interspersed amongst all the damage gleamed the occasional patch of blood, but no bodies were left in the main room._

 _Moving through to the bedroom, Sirius stopped, falling to his knees at the sight before him. Sprawled out on the bed, with glassy eyes and a peaceful expression on his face, lay Remus' body. Despair crashing over him in waves, Harry numbly continued his sweep of the apartment, but found nobody else. Returning to the bedroom, he saw that Sirius had closed Lupin's eyes, and was now simply sat on the edge of the bed, staring straight ahead._

 _"He's gone…" Sirius croaked quietly, his voice hoarse. "Moony's gone…"_

 _Harry walked over to Sirius, and wrapped his godfather in a strong hug. The death of Remus tore at him like a knife, but as Sirius began sobbing uncontrollably, shaking with grief at the loss of his friend, Harry had to focus and get them out of here. Letting go of his godfather, he walked over and picked up Lupin's body, carrying it across his shoulders in a fireman's lift. Grabbing Sirius' arm, Harry quickly Apparated them back to Grimmauld Place, where he lay Lupin down gently on the long dining table, the others crying out in shock and despair._

 _They buried him a few days later on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, as Sirius thought it appropriate that Moony should run free again._

* * *

Harry shook himself alert, the memory disappearing in a flash, and he quickly glanced around the room. Ron was doodling onto his parchment, oblivious, whilst Hermione was looking at him curiously. Harry quickly imitated a yawn, trying to make it look like he was just tired. Hermione's eyes narrowed by a fraction, but she looked away, turning back to her note-taking a moment later. Thankfully, Binns didn't seem to have noticed Harry's lack of attention, and continued to drone as if nothing had happened at all.

Looking back to his notes, something occurred to Harry that he'd forgotten about.

 _The Map._

In the original timeline, Harry had been given the _Marauder's Map_ by Fred and George, who'd taken pity on him after he'd been prevented from going to Hogsmeade without a permission form. The Map, created by James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew during their schooldays, showed the entirety of Hogwarts Castle, including the whereabouts of all of its inhabitants. It had proven to be an invaluable asset, and Harry realised he would need it in his possession as quickly as possible.

The only problem was that this time, he _had_ permission for the Hogsmeade trips, and so likely wouldn't be given it out of pity. He couldn't approach the twins about it, as he'd have no way of convincing them to give it to him without mentioning the Marauders, which would lead to awkward questions about how he knew about them.

That left two choices: play the long game, and get Lupin to talk about the Marauders, then use that information to coerce the twins to hand over the Map; or just steal it from them.

Harry wasn't sure which was the worse option at this point. If he played the situation with Lupin by ear, it would likely be months before he had the Map in his possession. If he was too forceful, Lupin would notice – and then he'd be put in a difficult position. Whereas, if he stole it, he could get it quickly, but it would mean potentially breaking Fred and George's trust, let alone the fact he'd have to actually manage to steal from the two best – and most thorough – pranksters in the school. They'd be sure not to leave it lying around for him to take.

Harry sighed, rubbing his face in his hands as he pocketed the notebook. He couldn't make a decision right now, but he'd have to think of something soon.

He was saved any further debates by the bell, and he hurriedly packed up his things along with the rest of the students. Upon leaving the classroom and heading back towards the Grand Staircase, Ron immediately launched into a tirade about how little he enjoyed History of Magic.

"I mean, _seriously?_ A bloody _ghost_ teaching History?" He ranted as they descended the stairs to the Second Floor.

Harry turned to Hermione, who was trying to resolutely ignore Ron's frustration. "Even you've got to admit that's a _little_ ironic, Hermione." He said, his friend tutting loudly in response.

"I honestly think," Ron started, "that he might be the _worst_ teacher in the entire school."

"You might have more good things to say about History of Magic, _Ronald_ ," Hermione pointed out testily, "if you actually paid attention."

Ron snorted, before replying half-heartedly about how difficult it was to pay attention to Professor Binns.

"Besides, Ron," Harry interrupted before Hermione could irritate the redhead further, "we all know that Snape is the worst teacher in the school."

"Yeah, suppose you've got that right." Ron answered, seemingly satisfied.

The three walked into the Charms Corridor, when Hermione turned to Harry, poking him lightly to get his attention. "Harry, are you sure you're alright? You sort of… spaced out during History." She didn't hide her concern, and looked at Harry searchingly.

 _Shit._

"Seriously, Hermione, I'm fine." Harry replied, trying to sound grateful for her concern, but Hermione, instead of looking reassured, simply nodded slightly and looked away, a strange expression on her face.

 _Remember, Harry._

 ** _Consequences._**

A drawling, self-important voice pulled Harry out of his worrying.

" _Potter!_ " Malfoy hissed as the students entered Professor Flitwick's classroom. "Are the rumours true? You actually _fainted?_ " He laughed derisively, making exaggerated swooning motions to his sniggering friends as the settled in the raised benches that ran around the edges of the room.

"Piss off, Malfoy." Harry responded quickly, uninterested in squabbling with the ponce.

Malfoy sneered, flipping Harry a rude gesture out of sight of Professor Flitwick in retaliation.

"Settle down class!" The half-goblin Charms teacher called from atop the pile of books he stood on. Once the students had fallen silent, he flicked his wand at the blackboard, the piece of chalk scratching away as he began to lecture. "Now, today we'll be studying the Freezing Charm, **_Glacius._** You can turn in your summer homework at my desk at the end of the lesson. Now, the **_Glacius_** Charm…"

* * *

"I'll see you two in a minute, I've got to go to the Library for something." Hermione called over her shoulder as she jogged up the corridor and out of sight.

"Typical." Ron snorted, a good-natured smile on his face as he and Harry left Flitwick's classroom with the rest of the students. "First day back and off she goes, and before lunch too! That's got to be some kind of record."

Harry shook his head, grinning, as he and Ron walked down towards the Great Hall for lunch. Sure enough, they'd no sooner sat down at the Gryffindor table when Hermione walked into the hall, subtly tucking something back into the front of her robes.

 _The Time-Turner._

Harry had thought about the device in Hermione's possession for nearly an entire day back at Diagon Alley, and had spent many hours weighing up in his mind whether he could make use of it or not. He'd burned several pages of scrawled-out positive/negative tables to getting and using the Time-Turner, and also more than a few plans to steal it from Hermione or convince her to let him use it.

In the end, he'd conceded that it would just be too risky – Hermione had been given the Time-Turner by the Ministry, and it would likely be locked to the five-hour limit mandated by law. Even if he somehow managed to get hold of it, he'd be unable to use it for anything immediately productive, save getting a few extra hours out of each day. The danger that taking the Time-Turner would have some unforeseen – and severe – consequences was practically a certainty.

Despite this, the paranoid, preparatory part of his brain was screaming at him to take it, and keep it close in case of an emergency.

"Alright, Hermione? Blimey, you work fast." Ron said as she sat down next to the two, a small smirk on her face.

"Looking forward to Transfiguration?" She asked the two boys, steering the conversation away from her excursion.

Ron shook his head, already wolfing down a sandwich, but Harry nodded somewhat eagerly, looking forward to actually learning something he might have ignored last time. "I've had a chance to really look at it over the summer," he replied when he saw Hermione's eyebrows lift in surprise. "I did a bit of practice at the Leaky Cauldron, and it went quite well. Plus, some of the advanced stuff I read about in my free time looked _– really –_ cool."

"Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Harry?" Ron asked, making Harry guffaw loudly.

Hermione smiled a broad, toothy grin. "Well, I'm glad at least _one_ of you has decided to take an interest in their education." She shot a prolonged glare at Ron as she finished her sentence, who shrugged and returned to his lunch.

Harry laughed at the back-and-forth between his friends, and quickly ate his own lunch before the start of the afternoon lessons.

* * *

Transfiguration, as it turned out, was quite boring. Harry, who'd been trained by Dumbledore and Sirius, had more than enough experience with this branch of magic, and McGonagall's rigid lesson structure left him performing the work without much effort, and little room to improvise. It was when the students were packing away that McGonagall looked up from her desk, giving Harry a stern look.

"Stay behind a moment, Potter, if you please." She called out as the class stood and filed towards the door. Ron and Hermione shot Harry a quizzical look, and he just shrugged in response, telling them he'd see them back at Gryffindor Tower.

Once the others had left, Professor McGonagall laid her quill down and looked at Harry over steepled fingers.

"I saw you in class today, Mister Potter." She said simply.

Harry looked at her in confusion. "Professor?"

"The spell work. You were having near-total success. Even Miss Granger was having more trouble than you." She elaborated, eyeing Harry carefully. "Last year, your work was a comfortable average. Today, you're the top of the class. What's changed?"

Harry spluttered for a moment before he responded. "Well, I did some self-study when I was Diagon Alley-"

"This is more than just self-study, Potter." McGonagall interrupted, her eyes boring into Harry's.

 _Oh, no._

Suddenly, the Transfiguration teacher smiled, her expression softening considerably. "I'd say your natural talents have finally come out!" She exclaimed happily.

"Natural talents?" Harry asked, confused.

McGonagall looked at Harry a moment, her eyes glistening slightly. "O-of course… I should've known." She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief before she continued, her voice a little shaky.

"Harry, your father was an exceptional wizard, and Transfiguration was his finest subject. I can say with certainty that he was one of the best students I ever taught, and… it looks like he's passed that talent down to you." She smiled warmly at the teenager across from her.

Harry, of course, already knew this, as Sirius and Remus had told him many stories about their youth, but he needed to play this right. With any luck, he'd end up being able to learn something this year after all.

"…No one's ever told me that before, Professor." He said quietly, looking down at his shoes.

"I apologise, Harry." Professor McGonagall responded. "It hadn't crossed my mind that you might not have known."

Harry looked up, and smiled gently. "That's alright, Professor. I don't really know that much about my parents' time at school."

McGonagall looked away, thinking for a minute before she turned back to Harry. "We'll carry on with the current syllabus for the rest of this week, and if your standards don't slip – in your homework too I might add – then I think I can speak with the Headmaster about giving you some more difficult work."

Harry grinned and nodded, the eagerness to learn that had fled when he'd entered the class returning quickly. Picking up his things, he turned to leave when McGonagall called his name.

"Potter."

"Yes, Professor?"

"I'm sorry that none of us here have offered you information about your parents. I'd be happy, if we arrange a suitable time, to tell you about them." McGongall's tone was hesitant, unsure.

 _Why not?_

"I think I'd like that, Professor." Harry replied with a smile. "I'll find you after our lesson tomorrow and we can arrange something."

"Very good, Potter. I'll see you at dinner."

* * *

"What was all that about?" Ron asked once Harry returned to the Common Room.

"Oh, she just wanted to speak to me about how I'm feeling after yesterday," Harry lied effortlessly.

"Fair enough." Ron responded, before changing the subject to the Chudley Cannons' chances of winning their league cup this year. Harry followed the conversation without really paying attention, nodding and saying "yeah" when he needed to. Before long, it was dinnertime, and the trio headed down to the Great Hall, Ron already beginning to complain about how many stairs there were between Gryffindor Tower and a good meal.

The food was as delicious as he remembered, and having missed the feast the previous night Harry was determined to enjoy himself. He ate, laughed and chatted with the other Gryffindors, his dorm-mates telling him about their summers and discussing the other houses' likely Quidditch line-ups. For a time, Harry forgot about everything else, and simply enjoyed being a student again.

The dull ache that Hogwarts' destruction had created in his heart was both more acute, and less noticeable than before. Everywhere he looked, he'd see a face he recognised, some person he'd seen lying dead amongst the rubble or reported missing in the _Prophet_. Others, he'd remember duelling in the streets, or fleeing from as they hurled curses at his back.

But at the same time, he felt the buzz of activity, the sense of restless life that filled the very air of the castle, something that he noticed all too sharply when it was gone.

It was rejuvenating and yet painful, a baptism of sorts.

 _Appropriate,_ Harry thought, smirking inwardly as he munched on his long-time favourite dessert of treacle tart.

Soon enough dinner was finished, and the students were standing up to return to their dormitories when Percy walked over, handing Harry a small slip of parchment.

"A message for you, Harry." He said with an air of pompousness before striding off in the direction of the Ravenclaw table.

Harry looked down at the parchment and unfolded it, reading the neat, cursive handwriting inside.

 ** _Dear Harry,_**

 ** _I'd very much like for you to join me in my office for a little while after dinner. I hope I'll be seeing you shortly._**

 ** _Professor Dumbledore_**

 ** _P. S. I wonder if they have any Chocolate Oranges at the shops in Hogsmeade. They're a bit of a guilty pleasure, I'm afraid._**

Harry sighed when he finished the note.

 _Oh._


	16. Homecoming, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone - Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays! I've been working on and off on this over the last ten days or so, but the Steam Winter Sale started, you see, and one thing led to another...**

 **Anyway, I'd once again like to express my gratitude for all the fantastic support from you all - I'll Keep Coming is now at over 150 Followers! Mental!**

 **Enjoy, and have a good one!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"Harry? Aren't you coming up to the Tower?" Hermione asked as Harry turned off of the staircase at the Third Floor.

"Sorry, I've got to go and see Professor Dumbledore." Harry called over his shoulder as he walked away, ignoring the surprised and slightly hurt look that Hermione wore as she gazed at his retreating back.

"C'mon, Hermione, I'm sure he'll tell us later," Ron said as he motioned for Hermione to follow him. Hermione nodded half-heartedly and resumed climbing the stairs, looking behind her every so often at the entrance to the Third Floor, deep in thought.

* * *

Harry strode down the corridor, the massive gargoyle that concealed the staircase to the Headmaster's Office seeming to grow larger and more imposing as he approached. He clenched his fists nervously, focusing on the pain his nails caused as they dug into his palms.

Dumbledore hadn't been at dinner earlier, but that wasn't a shock to Harry – in the original timeline the old man had often disappeared for days at a time, seen only in passing as he left or returned to the school. The fact that the Headmaster wanted to see him on his first day back, however, wasn't something Harry had planned for.

 _…It's like she said, isn't it?_

He ruthlessly silenced the voice in the back of his mind, pulling his thoughts roughly back to the present.

The likelihood that this was just a social call was slim, particularly because Harry and Dumbledore had not become close until Harry's fifth year last time. Therefore, he'd need to be on his guard. The Headmaster was no fool, and if he wanted something he'd control the flow of the conversation like a master.

" _Chocolate Oranges._ " Harry spoke clearly to the gargoyle, which stepped to the side, the spiral staircase rising from the floor like it were a well-oiled machine. Ascending the stairs, he raised his fist to knock on the door to the office when it swung open, the hinges creaking gently.

"Come in, Harry." Professor Dumbledore, clad in deep burgundy robes, called out from behind his large, ornate desk.

Harry walked slowly into the room, gazing once again on the myriad of strange devices that whirred, clanked and emitted small puffs of coloured smoke that dotted the edges of the room. The fire reflected slightly off of the sets of glass doors that covered the wall-to-wall bookcases, bathing the room in a warm orange glow. Above the door and the bookcases hung the gilded magical paintings of previous headmasters, all sleeping quietly in their chairs.

Next to Dumbledore's desk sat Fawkes' perch, the Phoenix's scarlet feathers gleaming magnificently in the firelight. The bird tilted its head, looking at Harry, before it trilled a short, encouraging note that filled Harry's chest with warmth.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Harry asked neutrally, sitting in the chair opposite Dumbledore's when the old man indicated with his hand.

"Indeed, my boy." Dumbledore replied, his electric-blue eyes staring at Harry warmly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "How have you found your first day of classes?" He asked, stroking his long, silver beard with his hand.

"It's been a good day, Professor." Harry answered. "I'm looking forward to Defence Against the Dark Arts next week though."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Very good, Harry. I'm glad that all of the… excitement yesterday evening hasn't dampened your spirits." He smiled gently at Harry before he continued. "How are you feeling?"

Harry decided to try and stay as honest as possible here – Dumbledore was incredibly good at spotting lies. "Alright I think, Professor. To be honest, most of the time it all feels a bit like a bad dream."

Dumbledore smiled a genuine smile at Harry's words, his eyes twinkling. "That's good to hear, my boy. Dementors are… unpleasant creatures," he said, a brief expression of distaste visible on his face before he looked at Harry intently. "I trust that you understand, Harry, how dangerous they can be?"

Harry nodded.

"I must ask you, therefore," Dumbledore continued, his gaze turning from serious to imploring, "that you not take any risks whilst Hogwarts hosts the Dementors. I would also hope that you consider any trips to Hogsmeade Village carefully, as I cannot guarantee your absolute safety outside of the grounds. Whilst I will not force you to stay, I hope you will give any such decision due consideration."

 _Ah, so this is what he wanted._

"I understand, Professor." Harry replied carefully, not committing to any course of action yet.

The Headmaster looked at Harry silently for a minute, examining him. Harry shifted in his chair, unsure of what to do.

"There's something… different about you, Harry." Dumbledore said finally, his eyes meeting Harry's as he stared at the teenager across the desk.

 _NO._

Harry's heart thumped loudly in his chest, and he felt a strange ringing in his ears. "What?" He choked out after a moment, barely managing to make it sound calm, his hands clenched white-knuckled beneath the edge of the desk.

Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his glasses as he raised his hands in a placating gesture. "I apologise, Harry, I didn't mean to embarrass you. Alas, I often forget what it is like to be young." He explained reassuringly.

"Indeed," the Headmaster continued, "I think I'm inclined to agree with Professor McGonagall, who visited me just before dinner with an interesting story about your performance in Transfiguration." Dumbledore's beard twitched as he smiled gently. "It truly is wonderful to see talent flourish," he stated with sincerity.

Harry did his best not to let out a loud sigh of relief, and instead returned the old man's smile. "Thanks, Professor, I'll do my best not to let Professor McGonagall down."

"Excellent, my boy." Dumbledore replied, his eyes twinkling once more. "I've kept you long enough, I think. You should head back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry," he said as Harry stood, walking towards the door.

"Oh, and Harry?" Dumbledore called out as Harry reached for the doorknob.

"Professor?" Harry responded as he looked over his shoulder.

"Should you find yourself dwelling on the Dementors," the Headmaster continued as he idly stroked Fawkes' feathers, "I myself find that the company of good friends is the best cure for feeling down. Goodnight."

Harry nodded, and left Dumbledore's office, walking quickly back to the Grand Staircase.

* * *

Harry had managed to make his way to the Fifth Floor before he stopped, turning and running into a nearby corridor. After a moment listening at one of the many classroom doors to ensure no one was inside, he grasped the handle with shaking hands and quietly entered. Closing the door behind him, he slid down onto the floor, shivering in equal parts fear and relief. The moon in the night sky outside flooded the classroom with silvery light, the dust hanging still in the air.

 _…That was close. Too close._

Suddenly, a feeling of acute sickness rose in Harry's gut, and before he could stop it he had scrambled over to a darkened corner, painful convulsions wracking his body as he vomited. He drew in shuddering, gasping breaths, the acidic taste of bile stinging his throat as he tried to regain control. After a minute or so, his stomach was empty and Harry was left retching nothing but slimy, congealing spit into the puddle of sick on the floor. Drawing his wand as the heaving subsided, he vanished the vomit before conjuring a small glass, filling it with the **_Aguamenti_** Charm and gulping the newly-summoned water down in seconds.

He continued to refill and drink from his glass several times before his thirst was quenched, falling heavily to the floor and curling up for a few minutes. He took deep, slow breaths, feeling the rapid pumping of his heart in his chest.

Sitting upright, Harry tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and began to think.

Dumbledore had spotted something – something different.

 _What did he notice? Did I slip up?_

Thankfully, it seemed that the old man had put it down to Harry's newfound talents in Transfiguration, but the fact that he noticed something, _anything_ , now meant that Harry had to be more careful. He couldn't risk another close encounter with the Headmaster.

This still left _why_ Dumbledore had held that meeting in the first place. Harry's extreme reaction to the Dementors had brought him to Dumbledore's attention early.

That hadn't happened last time. None of this had. Already, a small voice in the back of Harry's mind was parroting what Future-Ginny had told him in the Hospital Wing.

 _You're losing control._

Harry quashed this voice, snapping his eyes open and jumping to his feet, pacing determinedly back and forth across the stone floor, his footsteps breaking the silence of the deserted room. Eventually he stopped, standing in front of one of the windows, basking in the pale moonlight.

"I'm still in control." He murmured quietly, his voice going unanswered before he resumed pacing, back in thought.

The fact that the Headmaster had been forthcoming about the Hogsmeade situation was interesting, however, as it now presented an opportunity.

 _I could get the Map._

Thinking his options through, Harry realised the solution was actually alarmingly simple. All he'd have to do is tell Ron and Hermione – whilst the twins are nearby – that Dumbledore was concerned for his safety and that he'd have to stay at school on the Hogsmeade weekend. If he played it right, the twins would take pity on him, and hand it over.

 _Better than trying to steal it from them anyway._

Harry started formulating some basic plans, but it was another twenty minutes or so until he was collected enough to begin his return to Gryffindor Tower, casting a quick Breath-Freshening Charm as he left the classroom.

He climbed the Grand Staircase slowly, his thoughts focused on his act for Ron and Hermione. He'd enjoyed their company more than he thought possible, but despite Ron's comfortable ease Harry knew that they were both concerned. He needed to cut off their growing suspicion if he was to pull this off. The only problem was _how._

With every new lie, the house of cards got taller.

How could he convince his friends that he was fine without revealing too much?

 _I'm going to have to tell them. It's the only way I can reassert my control._

" _Fortuna Major._ " Harry stated, upon reaching the portrait of the Fat Lady.

The portrait swung open and Harry walked through into the sparsely-populated Gryffindor Common Room, where – as expected – Ron and Hermione were waiting for him.

"Harry!" Hermione called out when she saw him enter, looking up from a large book about Potions. "What happened? Why did Dumbledore want to see you?" She asked as he walked over, sitting on the couch next to them.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you both when I got the message from Percy," Harry started sincerely, looking imploringly at Ron and Hermione to accept his apology. "I was preoccupied with it on the way back from dinner and it honestly slipped my mind."

"S'okay mate." Ron grunted in acceptance, satisfied, and Hermione gave Harry a small nod before he continued.

"Dumbledore asked me how I've found the first day back, and how I was feeling after the Dementor attack." Harry said, before Hermione interrupted.

"He met with you to ask you how you were feeling?" She asked, incredulity barely hidden in her tone.

"Not exactly, Hermione." Harry responded, rapidly trying to think of a new lie he could tell, when he saw two familiar boys descend the stairs from the dormitories. Harry didn't react outwardly, but his relief was palpable.

 _Just in time, thank God._

As Fred and George sat down at one of the small tables that dotted the Common Room, whispering to each other, Harry continued, his voice ever so slightly louder so that he could be overheard.

"Well, after what happened on the train, Dumbledore's asked me not to go to Hogsmeade until he can get the Dementors to leave." Harry said, Hermione's eyebrows rising in shock.

"What?" Ron blurted out loudly. "He's stopped you from going to Hogsmeade? _That's so unfair!_ " He half-shouted.

Hermione rounded on Ron, her mouth twisted in irritation. " _Honestly, Ron!_ Dumbledore's concerned about Harry's safety and all you care about is whether he can go to Hogsmeade or not?" She retorted through gritted teeth. The redhead backed off at Hermione's furious expression, falling silent.

"I don't like it any more than you do, but… he might have a point." Harry said, dropping his voice low so that only the other two could hear. Ron and Hermione leaned in closely as Harry elaborated. "I'm sorry that I've been out of sorts today." He cast a meaningful look at Hermione, who again gave Harry a quick nod of acceptance.

"You guys remember how it felt to be around the Dementor on the train, right?" He asked, Hermione and Ron murmuring their confirmation, their expressions serious. "Well," Harry took a deep breath, "when I collapsed I heard… awful things. I heard Voldemort." Ron made a sharp intake of breath, alarmed at Harry's use of the Dark Lord's name.

"…I heard him killing my mum." Harry finally managed to say, Hermione letting out a gasp of shock, her face ashen and her eyes shining.

"You know, the most screwed-up thing is," Harry laughed humourlessly, "is that I'd never even heard her voice before yesterday."

Hermione didn't wait any longer, and engulfed Harry in a strong hug, sniffling loudly. For a minute, he just leaned into the embrace, drawing comfort from Hermione's warmth and affection. Eventually they broke apart, and Harry glanced at his two friends.

"I'll be alright, I think." He said gently. "I just might need some time."

Ron clapped Harry on the shoulder lightly. "Of course, mate, whatever you need." His mouth twisted into a grin before he continued. "But I don't think Wood will forgive you if your Quidditch game suffers."

Harry chuckled in response, grateful that Ron was trying to make light of their conversation. Before long, the three had begun discussing different things, like what to expect from Hagrid's first Care of Magical Creatures lesson the next morning.

Harry bet a few Bronze Knuts with a disbelieving Ron that it would _definitely_ be Dragons.

* * *

Harry woke up around six o'clock the next morning, removing the Silencing Charms he'd placed on the curtains of his four-poster bed as he got dressed into his shorts and a long-sleeved t-shirt. He stealthily crept through the dormitory and down the stairs to the Common Room, which was deserted this early in the morning. After quickly exiting the portrait hole and ignoring the Fat Lady's protests, ("Well, _really!_ Don't worry about me, you can just wake me up whenever you like!"), Harry made his way down the Grand Staircase towards the Entrance Hall.

Stepping through the large, beautifully-carved doors, Harry breathed in the fresh morning air. The sun was just starting to rise over the hills on the horizon, bathing the grounds in bright rays of sunshine.

Harry set off towards the Black Lake at a light jog, enjoying the peace and quiet. After he reached the pebble-strewn shoreline, Harry picked up his pace, aiming to get as far as he could. The repetitive motions of putting one foot in front of the other, the steady draw of breath into his lungs, the _crunch_ of the pebbles under his trainers helped his concentration wander, and for about half an hour Harry simply _was_ , utterly free of thought or pressure.

Unfortunately, he couldn't ignore the steadily growing burning sensation in his chest any longer, and as his third lap around the massive lake drew to a close he began to slow, before walking back up to the castle. His thirteen-year-old body was unfit, for sure, but it wasn't as bad as he'd thought. With the right kind of diet and regular exercise, he'd be in great health in no time.

Ascending the stairs back to Gryffindor Tower, he went for a shower in the dormitory bathroom before getting dressed into his school robes. With the rest of the boys still asleep, Harry decided to head down to breakfast and eat in good time for Hagrid's first lesson.

Enjoying a plate of eggs, bacon and buttered toast, Harry watched as more of the students and teachers began to filter in over the next hour. He waved Ron and Hermione over when they arrived, and thankfully the other two didn't question his absence from the dormitory.

After breakfast, the three headed down towards Hagrid's Hut with the other third-years, ignoring Malfoy's loud ranting about how much of an outrage it was to see Hagrid promoted to Professor. Hagrid, as massive and hairy as Harry remembered, was standing by his front door, waiting for them.

"I've got a right treat fer yeh today, class. Follow me!" He said, his beetle-black eyes glittering with mad enthusiasm as he lumbered off towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

After a short walk (during which most of the class was jogging to keep up with Hagrid's massive strides), they arrived at the paddock which Harry knew held the Hippogriffs. Handing a small handful of Bronze Knuts over to Ron at the revelation that the lesson did not, in fact, focus on Dragons, Harry watched with the rest of the class as Hagrid called over Buckbeak.

"Hagrid, what exactly is that?" Ron asked, a barely-discernible undertone of fear making his voice quaver slightly.

"Well, Ron," Hagrid responded, "Buckbeak is a Hippogriff. Now, pay attention, class." Hagrid's face became absolutely serious. "Hippogriffs are _very_ proud creatures. You do _not_ want to insult a Hippogriff. It might be the las' thing you ever do." He stated, ignoring the audible scoff that came from Malfoy's general direction. "Now," his face lit up again with optimism. "Who wants ter come an' pet him?"

As Harry predicted, the rest of the class immediately backed away, leaving him standing in front looking quite silly.

"Ah, Harry, thanks fer volunteerin'!" Hagrid called out, before hastily adding, "five points ter Gryffindor!"

"Now then, Harry. You need ter step forward, an' bow. Nice an' low, now." Hagrid urged quietly, Harry following the half-Giant's instructions. After a tense few seconds, Buckbeak bowed in return, the creature's orange eyes fixed on Harry as the class applauded. At Hagrid's urging, he went over to pet the Hippogriff.

He was gently stroking Buckbeak's feathers when the Hippogriff fixed Harry with a sudden look, it's pupils narrowing in a matter of seconds.

 _Huh?_

The creature tensed, before flinching away from Harry's hand, letting out a loud squawk as it began to rear on its hind legs. Harry rapidly retreated, noticing the strangely sad expression on Hagrid's face as the Hippogriff flapped its massive wings, buffeting up twigs and leaves from the paddock floor, squawking in displeasure.

"Ah, right, erm…" Hagrid stumbled over his words, clearly shaken by the Hippogriff's dislike of Harry as he threw the creature a ferret to eat.

Harry nearly choked in surprise when it was none other than Ron, stony-faced, who stepped forward to help save the lesson from disaster.

"Hagrid, can I try?" Ron asked, his voice still a little shaky.

Harry couldn't help but stare, open-mouthed along with the rest of the class at Ron – who never volunteered for anything – standing forward, ready to approach a potentially dangerous magical creature.

"O-of course, Ron." Hagrid replied, rallying his nerves. After receiving the same pep-talk that Hagrid had given Harry, Ron awkwardly walked forward before taking a large bow before Buckbeak, the Hippogriff hesitating a moment before reciprocating. Harry clapped loudly with Hermione as Ron went on to pet Buckbeak gently, before Hagrid picked the redhead up and saddled him – despite his protests – on the Hippogriff's back, sending the creature into a running take-off with a powerful slap to its flank.

The class watched, astonished, as the redhead was carried away, crying out in what sounded an awful lot like terror.

Ron Weasley had just flown off, on a _Hippogriff._

Harry chuckled to himself as he pictured Ron, holding on for dear life as Buckbeak carried him over the grounds at breakneck speed. Inside, however, he was confused.

Why had Buckbeak reacted to him? It didn't make any sense.

Harry pushed the questions out of his mind as Ron returned, stumbling off of the Hippogriff's back towards Harry and Hermione, his face white with shock.

"That…" he started, his voice shaky with adrenaline and fear, "…was _wicked._ "

Hermione shook her head as Harry laughed, clapping Ron on the shoulder and congratulating him loudly.

However, Harry spotted Malfoy giving a conspiratorial nod to Crabbe and Goyle, beginning to strut out of the group towards Buckbeak.

 _Ah._

Slipping his wand into his hand from his sleeve, Harry pointed it subtly at Malfoy as he swaggered past, and whispered **_Flipendo_** under his breath.

The effect was immediate.

Mid-step, Malfoy's foot caught on thin air thanks to the Trip Jinx, sending the blonde-haired Slytherin crashing head-over-heels into the dirt of the paddock floor in an ungraceful heap. The class stared in shock for a moment before bursting out laughing, sending the ponce – now covered in mud and bits of undergrowth – quickly retreating to behind the other Slytherins, muttering and casting paranoid glares across the rest of the class.

 _Take that, you twit_ , Harry thought to himself as he chortled at Malfoy's 'misfortune'.

The lesson passed uneventfully, and aside from several instances of copies of the _Monster Book of Monsters_ running amok after being untied from whatever the students had managed to subdue them with, Hagrid finished the class in high spirits, encouraged by more than a few thumbs-up from Harry, Ron and Hermione.

The three made their way back to the castle for their next lesson – Transfiguration – laughing at Ron's dramatic retelling of the Hippogriff flight.

Harry smiled inwardly. These were consequences he didn't mind so much.


	17. A Grim Omen, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Huh, first chapter of 2017 is chapter seventeen? ZOMG ILLUMINATI CONFIRMS!11!1!**

 **Enjoy.**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"Professor McGonagall?" Harry asked as the rest of the Transfiguration class filtered out to lunch, the stern witch looking up from a pile of essays on her desk.

"Yes, Potter?"

"Would tomorrow evening be a good time for us to talk about my parents?" Harry proposed, packing away the last of his things into his school bag.

Professor McGonagall paused for a moment before nodding, a small smile on her face. "My office, eight o'clock," she stated before turning her attention back to the parchment. Harry picked up his bag and left the classroom, before nearly crashing into Ron and Hermione, who were waiting just outside the door.

"I thought I told you both to meet me at lunch," Harry said after he'd regained his balance from his near-collision.

Ron nodded. "We decided to wait anyway," he responded. "Besides, it's not like you took very long. We'd barely be in the Entrance Hall by now if we'd headed off with everyone else."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," Harry said as the three walked back towards the Grand Staircase.

"So, Harry, what was that about?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Er…" Harry began, unsure of what to say. "I was just arranging a meeting with her for tomorrow evening," he replied evasively after a few moments of silence.

"Oh, okay," Hermione said, realising the implication that the meeting was Harry's business. The conversation was saved from falling into total silence by Ron, who took the opportunity to protest the essay Professor McGonagall had assigned the class for the coming weekend.

(September 1st had fallen on a Wednesday this year, and so the students were lucky to have only two days' lessons before the first weekend of the new term).

"I mean, _seriously?_ I swear, McGonagall's taking the fact that it's Saturday tomorrow as an insult," Ron exclaimed in irritation.

Hermione tutted. "Ten inches of parchment on inanimate-to-animate Transfiguration isn't _that_ much, Ron," she replied exasperatedly. "Besides, we've not had any other homework yet so it's hardly a problem."

Ron looked at her as if she had just started speaking fluently in another language. The impressively outraged look on his face nearly made Harry snort with laughter, but he stifled it into a coughing fit at the last second.

"But _Hermione,_ " Ron started, his voice rising to a whine as they descended the Grand Staircase, "it's the _weekend_ tomorrow, and I don't want to spend it writing essays!" he insisted loudly.

"Well then, _Ronald,_ " Hermione retorted in a mocking impression of Ron's tone, "you'd better get to work on it tonight, then!" She smiled happily to herself all the way to the Great Hall, Ron spluttering half-formed responses until the three had sat down and begun eating their lunch.

Their afternoon lessons – History of Magic (again, much to Ron's consternation) and Herbology – passed quickly, but Harry's mind was already on other things. With any luck, he'd be able to find an empty classroom after dinner to use for spell practice. He had more time, now, and the resources of the Hogwarts Library, to train.

When the time came, he'd be prepared.

* * *

"I'll see you guys later, alright?" Harry said to Ron and Hermione as he headed towards the portrait hole.

"Harry, surely you can't be going out, it's nearly curfew!" Hermione interjected bossily.

Harry looked at her blankly and shrugged. "So?"

Ron laughed at Harry's response, before abruptly falling silent at the thunderous expression on Hermione's face.

"What do you mean, _so?_ " Hermione hissed, lowering her voice as a few sixth-years entered the Common Room. "You'll be caught out of bounds! I can't believe that you're already determined to lose us house points." She shot Harry a pointed glare as the teenager grinned back.

"Relax, Hermione – it'll be fine!" Harry replied, his voice oozing confidence as he nodded to the pair, slipping out of the portrait hole and throwing on the Invisibility Cloak once he was safely outside.

The Invisibility Cloak had been, since he had received it during the Christmas of his first year, one of Harry's prized possessions. In his later years he had come to favour the simple tactical benefits of being completely invisible whilst wearing it – something that even powerful Disillusionment Charms couldn't accomplish – but on a deeper level, the Cloak offered something far more important to Harry: the ability to be, for once, utterly unnoticed.

For years, since his arrival in the wizarding world at the age of eleven, Harry had been stared at, a celebrity for things he – at the time – couldn't even remember. With each new generation of students that came to Hogwarts, each time Harry ventured out in public, or just when strange things happened at school (being the fourth Triwizard Champion had been a particularly unpleasant highlight), people would whisper to each other and point at him whenever he passed by. The experience often left Harry feeling exposed, and the Cloak, afforded him a kind of total privacy he had never enjoyed after he'd shown up at the Leaky Cauldron all those years ago.

As he stood on the Grand Staircase, listening to the steady rumble of stone as the staircases shifted positions constantly, Harry felt a strange calmness fall over him. For the first time since he had arrived in the past, he was truly invisible, and that fact settled over him like a blanket of absolute security.

 _I'll try the Fourth Floor. Should be an unused classroom there somewhere._

Harry crept off under the Cloak, avoiding the last few students still on the staircases, and slowly made his way down to the Fourth Floor. By the time he'd reached the main landing, the castle was nearly quiet. Harry slipped into a nearby corridor, using a Supersensory Charm to help observe his surroundings as he listened at any doors he came across, looking for a safe place to practice.

After several minutes of slinking through the darkened passages, Harry found an ideal room, hidden away in the corner of a deserted corridor, the large wooden door itself submerged in shadow. Upon opening it, the door's rusty hinges creaking alarmingly loudly, the abundance of cobwebs in the moonlit room confirmed Harry's suspicions.

Entering fully and closing the door behind him, Harry ignited a nearby sconce with a quick **_Incendio_** , the flames leaping from his wand into the sconce and bathing the moonlit room in warm, flickering light. Harry didn't pause, however, and swiftly began casting Silencing Charms on every wall, the door, windows, floor and ceiling. With a flick of his wand the windows blacked out as if blinds were drawn over them, preventing any light from escaping. Standing with his back to the windows, Harry faced the rest of the room. Nodding to himself, he drew his wand in a wide circle, a wide red line following his movement on the wall opposite, painting itself onto the stone with an invisible brush.

With the target prepared, Harry took a deep breath, settling his feet into a duelling posture, his wand held high in his left hand.

" ** _Stupefy!_** " he cried out, the bolt of red light shooting from his wand and hitting inside the target with a loud _bang_ , but not leaving any marks on the wall. With his preparations tested, Harry's mouth twisted into a feral grin, before the teenager let loose a flurry of new spells.

" ** _Petrificus Totalus!_** "

" ** _Rictusempra!_** "

" ** _Saggitus!_** "

The room crackled with magical energy at each new spell Harry cast, his hair lifting slightly as if under static electricity. For several minutes, he continued to cast low-level offensive spells, his wand hot in his fist, the magic almost humming in the confined space. Before long, however, he'd lost interest, and shifted his position into a looser fighting stance that he'd used extensively in the future.

 _Now to try something more powerful._

" ** _Sectumsempra!_** " he roared, the bolt of purple light crashing against the target as Harry twisted on his feet, dodging an imaginary spell.

" ** _Confringo!_** " Harry shouted, whirling his wand over his head, the Blasting Curse shooting across the room. He had already resumed moving as the curse hit the target with a bright flash of light and a reverberating _boom_ , dust falling from cracks in the ceiling.

" ** _Defodio!_** " he yelled between heavy breaths, arcs of magical lightning breaking off of the Gouging Curse and lancing into the other walls. He was getting tired now, the draw on his magic already showing. Throwing both his hands out, Harry poured as much power as he could manage into his next spell.

 _"_ _ **SCUTUS MURUS!**_ "

The crackling, bluish wall of magical energy was beginning to form, spreading outwards when Harry's legs suddenly gave out from under him, the spell abruptly dissipating as the teenager crashed to the floor in a heap.

Panting, Harry lay on the uncomfortable stone floor for a few minutes, letting the exhaustion fade before eventually rising unsteadily to his feet.

 _Damn, I'm going to need to work on this._

With a small swish of his wand, the target, blinds, fire and silencing spells disappeared, plunging the room into darkness, save for the streams of pale moonlight that shone through the windows. Throwing the Cloak over his shoulders, Harry opened the door and headed back out onto the Fourth Floor.

Harry carefully made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, making a few detours to avoid two patrols of Prefects and some of the school ghosts that roamed the corridors this late. He'd just started ascending the staircase to the Sixth Floor when he heard footsteps approaching the landing up ahead. Trapped halfway up the staircase, Harry did the only thing he could, and crept back down to the Fifth Floor as the footsteps drew nearer, his caution costing him precious seconds. He'd just reached the Fifth Floor landing, hiding in the doorway to the adjacent corridor when he saw Professor Dumbledore emerge onto the Sixth Floor landing, deep in thought.

 _Oh, no_ , Harry thought as he stepped back, the floorboard underneath his foot suddenly creaking loudly.

Panicked, Harry froze, his heart thumping rapidly in his ears as he watched Dumbledore abruptly pause, the old man's bright blue eyes darting up, alert, and sweeping over the Fifth Floor landing.

The Headmaster descended the stairs slowly towards the Fifth Floor, his brow narrowed above his half-moon glasses.

Harry held his breath, doing his best to remain totally, _absolutely_ still.

Time seemed to stretch out for Harry as Dumbledore examined the landing, hardly daring to blink in case the Headmaster somehow noticed. After what felt like nearly a whole minute of looking, Dumbledore shook his head slightly and resumed his walk, heading past the Fifth Floor and down the Grand Staircase.

Harry waited until the old man had passed out of sight before sucking in a gasping breath, launching himself into a near-sprint back up the staircase towards the portrait of the Fat Lady.

His heart didn't stop hammering in his chest until he'd crept through the deserted Common Room and up to the dormitory, slipping into his bed after casting the customary Silencing Charms. His dreams were fitful that night, and Harry awoke before dawn the next morning to the strange, fleeting sensation that he was being watched.

* * *

Harry pounded across the grounds, keeping to the treeline as he ran, the streams of early morning sun shining gently through the treetops. Darting into the edge of the forest, Harry began to slalom between the tall, thin trunks as he pushed himself harder, panting with the exertion. For several minutes he continued his run, alternating between a straight jog on the open grass or agile sprinting in the edge of the Forbidden Forest, willing himself to work through the steady burning sensation in his legs and chest.

Eventually, Harry came to a stop halfway around the lake, sitting down against a nearby tree trunk as he caught his breath. Now that he was sitting still, he could hear the quiet rustling of the trees in the breeze, the steady birdsong coming from all around feeling strangely soothing to him. Surrounded by the melody of nature, Harry once again took in the sight of the castle, the massive structure almost gleaming in the light of the sun.

It truly was a beautiful place.

Getting to his feet, Harry began walking back to the castle, taking some twenty minutes or so before he finally found himself back in the Entrance Hall. Since it was the weekend, most of the students were sleeping in late, and Harry's return to the dormitory was uninterrupted. After a shower and change of clothes, Harry sat down at one of the small tables in the Common Room and began working on his Transfiguration essay, the peace and quiet broken only by the scratching of his quill on the parchment.

It was around eight o'clock that Hermione emerged from the girls' dormitory, heading down the stairs to the Common Room before pausing, surprised at what she saw.

"Harry?" she asked, the teenager looking around from his essay and greeting her with a smile. "You're up early," she remarked as she walked over, dropping down in the chair across from him, yawning quietly.

"Yeah," Harry replied, "I wanted to get this essay done sooner rather than later."

Hermione smiled at his apparent enthusiasm for the homework. "That's good," she said, "I finished mine last night."

"Fair enough."

"Harry, about last night…" Hermione started before trailing off, Harry looking up from the parchment and eyeing her carefully. "Why did you leave the Common Room so late in the evening?" she asked after a momentary pause.

"Well, I've been away from Hogwarts for nearly three months, Hermione," Harry answered, trying not to sound rude. "I just wanted to go for a wander for a little while." He kept his response noncommittal and vague – he wanted as few questions about his absence as possible.

Hermione frowned. "Surely you must have had a more important reason to break curfew?" Harry shook his head, causing her frown to deepen. "That's irresponsible of you, Harry," She said firmly.

Harry laid down his quill, looking at Hermione determinedly. "Why?" he asked.

"Well, aside from risking house points _two days_ into the new term," Hermione stated, her tone slightly biting, "don't you remember what Mr. Weasley said to you during the summer?" she asked him imploringly.

"I remember what he said, Hermione," Harry responded quickly, annoyed at the victorious expression that flashed across his friend's features momentarily. Just as he was about to continue, however, Harry stopped himself – getting angry or defensive wouldn't help, not when Hermione was this sure that she was right. Slumping a little in a silent admission of defeat that he hoped would appease her, Harry decided to change the subject.

"On the subject of what Mr. Weasley said, have you found out anything about Black yet?" Harry asked, quickly dropping his voice as a pair of first-years descended the stairs into the Common Room and headed out of the portrait hole.

Hermione shook her head before replying. "I've not actually started looking yet – Ancient Runes homework got in the way. I was thinking of heading to the Library later today, though."

"Do you mind if I come with you?" Harry requested, Hermione's eyebrows shooting up in surprise, clearly taken aback by Harry's newfound studiousness. "It's just…" Harry started, wondering how to phrase it. "…Everyone seems convinced that Black's after _me_ , and aside from researching him being easier with the two of us, I'd kind of… like to find out for myself." He looked down at the table, putting on a show of uncertainty and shyness.

Hermione's face broke into a smile, and she prodded Harry's hand so that the teen looked up. "Of course you can come with me, Harry," she said gently, her irritation at his excursion the previous night apparently forgotten.

Harry smiled back in response, his unspoken thanks clear to his friend as he picked up his quill and continued writing.

* * *

Ron was dismayed to hear over breakfast that Harry and Hermione were heading to the Library to research Sirius Black that day, but Harry held his ground when the redhead tried to talk him out of it.

"But Harry, the weather's _perfect_ today for some flying! Surely you don't want to spend the whole day stuck in the Library?" he asked in disbelief.

"Sorry, Ron, but I've got to keep looking into Black. No one is telling me _anything_ , but they all expect me to listen to them when they tell me to be careful," Harry said. "Since I can't trust any of the teachers to tell me what the hell is going on, I haven't got any choice – I _need_ to find out why." His voice was full of conviction as he held Ron's gaze, hoping that his friend would understand.

Ron paused, but eventually nodded slightly, and Harry turned back to his breakfast, missing the small frown on the redhead's face. After bidding Ron (who, ignoring Hermione's insistence that he finish his Transfiguration homework, said he'd be hanging out with Seamus) goodbye on the First Floor landing, Harry and Hermione headed off to the Library.

Harry had never realised quite how large the Hogwarts Library was. Indeed, he had been in his early twenties the first time that he'd actually spent any particular length of time there, studying new spells in between missions for the resistance. As he and Hermione walked past aisle after aisle of towering bookcases the pair seemed to get no closer to the rear wall – where the Restricted Section was situated. After a few more strides (during which the Restricted Section remained stubbornly out of reach) they turned into the next aisle of dark wooden cabinets, marked by a sign hanging above that read _Daily Prophet Archive_.

Against the bookcases, in lieu of the long study tables like the rest of the Library, there sat a continuous row of drawers, the large side-by-side chests rising to about waist height, and the shelves above filled with identical black leather albums, each a year's worth of front pages from every edition – morning, evening and Sunday – of the _Prophet_ since its creation in 1743. The archive was considerably more extensive than the meagre selection at _Flourish & Blotts_, Harry noted with an appreciative smile. Dropping their bags down on top of the nearest chest, the two teenagers looked at each other.

"Since you've already done some research on Black, Harry, where do you think we should start?" Hermione asked. Harry was a little taken aback by her question, as he half-expected Hermione to have come up with a solid plan already.

"Well, er…" Harry started, before quickly rallying himself, "the archive at _Flourish & Blotts_ was nothing like this, so I suppose we should start at the end and work our way backwards?" he said, opening up the album with _1981_ printed on the side in embossed golden letters. Flipping the large book open, Harry began to turn the neat pages – each headline-covered front page preserved thanks to some kind of Charm – until he hit the issue marked _November 1_ _st_ _, 1981 – Special Evening Edition_.

Printed in large, blunt letters, sat the headline Harry had recognised from the worn, yellowed edition they had in _Flourish & Blotts_.

* * *

 ** _TRAGEDY IN LONDON: THIRTEEN DEAD IN SAVAGE ATTACK_**

 ** _CONTINUED WITHIN_**

* * *

Grimacing to himself at the headline, Harry left the album open on the chest in front of him, and crouched down, quickly finding the drawer marked _Evening Editions – 1981_. Opening the drawer, and seeing the magically-expanded interior, Harry quickly filtered through the filing tags until he found _November_ , pulling out the full copy of the correct paper from the drawer and laying it flat next to the album. Pulling over a nearby chair – a motion that Hermione mirrored – the two teenagers opened the first page, Hermione gasping in shock at the black-and-white picture of the destruction caused by Pettigrew's Blasting Curse.

* * *

 ** _PICTURED: THE DEVASTATION CAUSED BY SIRIUS BLACK, DEATH EATER, IN AN APPALLING ATTACK THAT KILLED ONE WIZARD AND TWELVE MUGGLES._**

 ** _Special Report by Calvin Graves_**

 ** _Today, the wizarding world is once again beset by tragedy._**

 ** _In the morning edition of this very paper, the news of the brutal murder of James and Lily Potter by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was broken to the public. With the Dark Lord's sudden disappearance from the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow, some of us would no doubt have hoped that this crisis is behind us._**

 ** _Instead, today marks yet more lives destroyed by You-Know-Who's reign of terror. Sirius Black, a long-time friend of James Potter and last surviving male member of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, had the truly devastating depths of his treachery revealed today in the violent, public murder of Peter Pettigrew, another friend of the Potters._**

 ** _Eyewitnesses describe a loud argument between the two men, where Pettigrew heroically confronted Black about his betrayal of the Potters to You-Know-Who, before Black attacked Pettigrew by surprise, giving the wizard no time to defend himself from a powerful Blasting Curse._**

 ** _The spell, which according to bystanders not only killed, but_** ** _obliterated_** ** _Pettigrew, also caused a large explosion in which twelve innocent muggles were killed. The carnage wrought by the ferocious attack our readers can see in the picture on the right hand side of this page._**

 ** _Black has since been apprehended by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and a source – speaking confidentially to this humble reporter – stated that Black did not resist the Aurors, and was, astonishingly,_** ** _laughing_** ** _from the moment he'd savagely murdered Pettigrew until he was taken to the Ministry holding cells, awaiting Azkaban._**

 ** _This disgusting, reprehensible crime…_**

* * *

Harry started skimming through the page, looking for anything new about Sirius. Articles that espoused Sirius' alleged guilt were no use to him if he wanted to help convince Ron and Hermione that his godfather might be innocent. Finding nothing else in this edition, he started leafing through the album again, looking later into that week's headlines.

 _Aha._

The edition of the _Prophet_ from November 3rd had a special article advertised on the front page.

* * *

 ** _SPECIAL REPORT INSIDE: SIRIUS BLACK – BIOGRAPHY OF A KILLER_**

 ** _PAGES THREE – SEVEN_**

* * *

Reaching into the drawer again, Harry pulled out the relevant issue and opened it up. Hermione, who'd finished the main article from earlier – and was now looking quite pale – closed her paper up and joined Harry in reading the _Prophet's_ study of Sirius' life. For the next fifteen minutes, the two sat in silence and read.


	18. A Grim Omen, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **For the elephant in the room: I decided to change the second genre of this story from Hurt/Comfort to Drama - it wasn't a decision taken lightly, but in light of where the story is right now, its overall characteristics and where I plan to take it, the latter genre seemed appropriate, and in keeping with other stories of the same genre that I've examined. I'd ask people to forgive changes like this, but to be blunt, it's a work in progress - things change.**

 **Also, more than 19,000 views. Wow. *In the background, yelling* "I did it, Ma! I'm internet famous!"**

 **Enjoy,**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"So… Sirius Black was one of your dad's best friends?" Hermione asked out loud, her voice full of confusion as they finished the vague – and incredibly biased – biography of Sirius in the paper.

Harry nodded. "It certainly looks that way. What I don't understand, though, is _why_ he'd betray them," he said quietly. Although Harry knew that Sirius had done no such thing, he needed to keep these questions at the forefront of his and Hermione's investigation.

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly, her expression pensive. "At least we know now that Black's definitely connected to you, Harry," she stated, before sighing quietly at the look on the teenager's face.

"You think there's something else, don't you?" she asked quickly.

"Yeah, I do," Harry replied, gazing down at the copy of Sirius' mugshot from Azkaban, examining the crazed glint in his godfather's eyes. "It's this… gut feeling… like I've missed something important."

"I have to know, Hermione." He turned, looking at the witch imploringly. "If what the _Prophet_ said is true, he's the reason my parents are dead. I have to know as much as I can about him. If there's something that's being kept from me, I _need_ to find out what."

Hermione met Harry's intense gaze, and nodded. "Okay, Harry. I trust your instincts – let's keep looking."

"Right," Harry said, relieved that Hermione believed him. "Now that we know a bit about Black from that article," he gestured to the paper lying open on the desk, "I want to find out more about his background. Do you think the Library would have any books on pure-blood families?" he asked, Hermione's face twisting into a thoughtful expression.

"I'm not sure," she responded after a moment. "Maybe we can ask Madam Pince?" she proposed as Harry nodded, already on his feet and walking back towards the front desk.

After a tense conversation with the imposing librarian – who seemed to be affronted at Harry's very presence – he returned to Hermione with directions to a small set of shelves, tucked away in a far corner of the Library.

Harry pulled out the first book that looked promising, a worn, dog-eared tome titled _A Patricians' Dominion: Noble Houses in Wizarding Britain_ , and began flicking through. Sure enough, he quickly found the section on the House of Black, exploring the family's origins as landowners from as far back as the Middle Ages, and its notable members throughout history. The unsavoury nature of many of Sirius' ancestors and relatives was surprisingly helpful, as with each new revelation at the Black family's apparently overwhelming allegiance to pure-blood supremacy, Hermione became visibly more bewildered.

By the time they'd finished their second book on Ancient and Noble Houses, Hermione sat back in her chair, sighing loudly.

"Confused?" Harry asked her, pulling a small smile when she shot him a glare. "Me too – it just doesn't add up," he said, allowing frustration to seep into his tone as he ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "It sounds like the whole Black family are worse than the Malfoys, but if they were, then how could Sirius Black be friends with my dad? Why does everyone seem to think he'd be after me?"

Hermione frowned, deep in thought. "Without more information about Black himself, we're just firing shots in the dark."

Harry muttered his agreement – he needed to be able to confirm Sirius' friendship with James Potter if he had any hope of suggesting his godfather's innocence to Ron and Hermione. "Maybe we should call it a day for now, then, Hermione," Harry said finally, his friend nodding in response. "We've already learned more about Black than I thought we would. I'll try and find out more about him if I can, but I doubt there's much in these books about his connection to my parents."

"I agree," Hermione replied simply, before packing up the books they'd removed from the shelf. With their supplies returned to their proper place, Hermione turned, looking at the teenager next to her.

"Harry…" she started, a hint of nervousness in her tone. "Look… I know that finding out about Black is really important to you – even I have to admit that this whole thing's gotten me curious. But…" she trailed off, breaking eye contact as she took a deep breath, rallying herself. "…What will you do if you find out that something actually _has_ been kept from you?"

Harry looked at her quizzically. "Does it matter? I haven't really thought about that yet," he responded casually, but underneath the surface, he was alert – trying to read Hermione's expression.

Hermione stared back at Harry, her eyes boring into his. "It matters to me," she answered, her voice stronger and filled with concern. "With everything that's happened over the past few days… you can't un-ring this bell, Harry. Are you sure that you're ready to hear whatever you might learn?"

Harry shrugged, inwardly relieved that his friend was just worried. "Honestly, Hermione? I don't know if I'm ready. But that doesn't matter to me. I _have_ to find out, anyway," he stated in a tone of finality.

"Okay, Harry," she said quietly, realising that she wouldn't get any further. The two were already back on the Grand Staircase, returning to the Great Hall for lunch before Hermione broke the silence between them.

"I suppose that's got to have been the longest you've ever spent in the Library at once," she posed aloud, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Harry chuckled in response. "Pfft. I've _totally_ spent time in the Library, I'll have you know," he said, grinning.

"Oh really? When would that have been, then?" Hermione asked coyly.

"When you weren't paying attention," Harry replied cheekily, earning him a light elbow in the ribs from Hermione.

Ron – who was surprisingly sat by himself at the house table – greeted the pair happily once he saw them enter the Great Hall, and the now-trio enjoyed a peaceful lunch as Harry and Hermione filled Ron in on what they'd found out so far about Black. Whereas Hermione was able to pick up on the inconsistencies in the _Prophet's_ stories, as well as the implausibility of someone as allegedly openly villainous as Black being friends with James Potter, Ron was irritatingly quick to dismiss it as Sirius simply being "a crazy, murdering lunatic".

Harry was frustrated at Ron's stubbornness, but if anything his friend's refusal to think further into the circumstances surrounding Sirius only confirmed to Harry the necessity of proving the close friendship between his father and godfather.

"I suppose you'll both be in the Library 'till dinner then?" Ron stated suddenly, his tone indecipherable.

Harry's eyes snapped up to examine his friend. He'd known Ron long enough in the original timeline to recognise resentment. Clearly, Ron was less happy with Harry's disinterest in hanging out today than he'd let on.

Although Harry completely understood – Ron _was_ only thirteen, after all – it was no less irritating. A part of him had hoped that his friend might understand that this was important, but it was obvious now that he was being optimistic. Left with the decision to either follow his plan for the afternoon, which involved returning to the Library alone to study some new spellbooks, or hanging out with Ron, he was struck momentarily by the realisation of just how _difficult_ it was to keep things under control when emotional teenagers were involved.

Although spending the afternoon with Ron would no doubt be enjoyable, it certainly wouldn't be productive. Having already sat through two days of school in which _nothing_ important was accomplished, Harry now had to consider his options. If he went through with what he wanted to do, Ron would likely get more upset – which would either cause problems within the next few weeks – or the redhead would internalise his resentment and let it build up, which could be disastrous later. If he decided to spend the afternoon with Ron, however, he'd end up wasting time, time that he couldn't get back.

Right now, Harry wished that he had a Time-Turner.

 _You can't risk it._

Harry agreed with the voice in the back of his mind, and elected for the safest choice.

"Actually, Ron," Harry started, trying not to notice the way his friend's eyes lit up a little with hope, "I'm done with the Library for a few days, at least. Would it be alright if we went flying for a bit, if you still wanted to?"

Ron grinned widely and nodded his head vigorously, making Hermione chuckle quietly.

"Let's get up to the Tower, then – I'll need to change, and I'm sure Hermione will want to fetch some books," Harry said as the three left the hall.

* * *

Whilst Hermione lounged in the stands of Hogwarts' large Quidditch Pitch – and, as Harry had predicted – read from a small stack of books in the afternoon sunshine, Harry and Ron darted across the sky, Harry deciding to forgo the Nimbus and join Ron in using the school brooms. The two alternated between racing and agile manoeuvring, with Harry using some basic Charms to summon courses of glowing rings in the air for them to use.

A few other students from Hufflepuff were also flying at the pitch, passing a Quaffle rapidly between them, using the large, leather-covered ball to run basic Chaser drills. Whilst flying was fun in of itself, Harry watched the group with interest, feeling the familiar allure of the wizarding sport.

His position as Seeker for the Gryffindor Quidditch Team had been the subject of a single, exhausting sleepless night back at the Leaky Cauldron. The immediate downsides of continuing to play the sport were mostly time-related: with all of the practice sessions that the Captain – seventh-year Oliver Wood – would no doubt be demanding of the players in the coming days, Harry's morning hours for exercise or other excursions would be increasingly limited. The shift in his schedule could mean later nights, which combined with the early mornings for Quidditch practice might cause problems with Harry's sleep.

Not that he slept a lot at the moment, anyway.

There was also the somewhat slim chance of injury whilst playing the game, but with all of the variables in effect once a match was underway – Bludgers, other players, and bad weather – a slim chance could quickly change for the worse.

However, his position on the team was a key part of his school personality, and one of his main pastimes at this age. Aside from having to explain his withdrawal from the team, which would certainly cause friction with his housemates and uncomfortable questions from Ron and Hermione, there was no way of predicting the knock-on effects of such a decision later in the year. It was just too much of a risk.

But, to be frank, the real reason he decided to stay on as Seeker was surprisingly simple.

Harry _loved_ Quidditch.

* * *

As Harry and Ron raced neck-and-neck through yet another course of glowing rings, flying close enough to the floor of the pitch that their shoes almost brushed the grass, Harry noticed that the Hufflepuffs had stopped their Chaser drills for a moment, and were watching the two from higher up in the air, deep in conversation.

Harry started to pull ahead from Ron, and shot the redhead a grin over his shoulder as the course turned upwards, towards the set of tall metal goal hoops at one end of the pitch. The wind whipped past Harry's ears as he pulled the handle of the broom towards his chest, the final rings of the course track aligning with the metal hoop atop the left-hand goalpost. Harry flattened himself against the broom as the hoop drew closer.

"Are you mad!?" Ron shouted from somewhere behind him.

Harry just laughed in response, shooting through the final ring of their course and then straight onwards through the very centre of the metal goal hoop, pulling his wand from his pocket and letting off a stream of bright sparks as he exited the far side.

"And Gryffindor score!" he yelled, wheeling his broom about, flying back through the central goal hoop before returning to Ron, who'd stopped short of the goalposts and floated gently in mid-air.

"Did anyone ever tell you that you're mental?" Ron asked, chuckling and shaking his head once Harry got close enough.

"Of course," Harry replied simply, a broad grin on his face. Ron snorted with laughter and the two lined up side-by-side, before leaning forward on their brooms and starting a lap of the pitch.

They were halfway round their lap when one of the Hufflepuff players flew up alongside them, Harry and Ron slowing down so they three could talk.

"You two fly pretty well," the fifth-year remarked as he glanced around at his friends, motioning for them to come over.

Harry was about to respond when he paused – he'd recognised _something_ in the teenager's voice. It was when the Hufflepuff turned around that Harry quickly stifled a gasp, and his grip suddenly turned vice-like around the handle of his broom.

Staring at him, a good-natured smile on his face, was Cedric Diggory.

Of perhaps all the deaths that Harry had ever witnessed, Cedric's was the one that haunted his nightmares most regularly in the years after. Indeed, having seen so many times the faint look of surprise and defiance that the boy had worn even as Wormtail's **_Avada Kedavra_** lanced toward him in Little Hangleton's graveyard, the sight of the broad smile on Diggory's handsome features was startling.

"Potter? You alright?" Cedric's voice drew Harry back to the present.

"Yeah, yeah – sorry, lost my train of thought," Harry replied absently, loosening his grip on the broom before it became painful.

"…Right," Cedric said unsurely, before looking at both Ron and Harry. "I was just saying that you two fly pretty well."

"Thanks," Harry answered. "I saw you doing Chaser drills with your friends when we arrived." He gestured to the two students on brooms closing across the pitch to the group.

"Yeah," Cedric started as the two drew to a stop in the air to either side of him. He gestured to the broad-shouldered boy on his right. "This is Will Crawley," he said, the other boy running a hand through short, spiky hair and grunting a hello. "And this," Cedric continued, pointing to the girl on his left, "is Zoe Holloway." The girl, whose long, black hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, nodded politely to the two Gryffindors.

"They've asked me to help them train for the team try-outs next week," Cedric stated by way of explanation. "What I was wondering, after seeing you fly, was if you two wanted to join in our training?"

Harry glanced at Ron, who nodded eagerly, a smile on his face.

"Excellent!" Cedric said, clapping his hands together. "Since we're doing Chaser practice, I was thinking – which one of you is the better Keeper?" he asked suddenly, and Harry didn't hesitate to point to Ron, who blushed a little and nodded.

"Tell you what," Cedric began, "Weasley, if you run Keeper over at the goals," he pointed to the posts where Harry and Ron had been racing, "me and Potter will play defence against Will and Zoe." Cedric's friends nodded, murmuring their assent. "They'll try and get past us, and score. You had any practice playing Chaser, Potter?" he inquired.

"A little," Harry replied honestly, "but I shouldn't have a hard time getting into it."

"Good enough for me," Cedric said happily, his mouth pulling into a grin. Taking the Quaffle from the girl – Holloway – he, Harry and Ron flew to the far end of the pitch, Ron pulling up into a steady hover in front of the hoops, weaving back and forth. Nodding to the redhead encouragingly, Harry joined Cedric in flying to the centre of the pitch across from Crawley and Holloway.

"Ready, Potter?" Cedric asked, his grin wide and toothy.

"You bet," Harry shot back confidently.

Cedric nodded, before passing the Quaffle to Harry, who immediately dropped into a dive along the pitch floor, before a blur of movement – likely Holloway – swept past him and deftly knocked the ball out from under his arm. Sweeping about, Harry gave chase whilst Cedric moved to intercept.

Harry relished the adrenaline, the rush of blood pumping through his veins and the roar of the wind in his ears.

The game was on.

* * *

An hour or two later, after Ron successfully blocked an impressively powerful shot by Crawley to the centre hoop, a rather red-faced Cedric called time, and the five players convened in the centre of the pitch. Grinning and sweating, they dismounted their brooms and landed neatly on the grass.

"That was some good stuff, guys – another day like today and you'll both get Chaser for sure," Cedric exclaimed happily to his two friends, the two teenagers smiling and thanking him amid panting breaths.

The fifth-year turned to Harry and Ron, who were also grinning quite widely – although the game wasn't a contest, as Cedric's team weren't playing to score – the two Gryffindors felt more than a little victorious at seeing their two competitors so thoroughly worn out. "Thanks for dropping in to help, you two," Cedric said, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

"No problem," the redhead replied cheerfully, clearly pleased he'd gotten to enjoy some actual Quidditch play for a change.

Cedric smiled and thanked the two once more, before jogging over to his friends. Harry and Ron remounted their brooms and flew to Hermione's spot in the stands, amused to see the witch nose-deep in an Arithmancy textbook.

"We're done – want to head in, Hermione?" Harry asked, his friend looking up from her book and smiling warmly.

A few minutes later saw the trio returning lazily to the castle, making a short detour to return the school brooms to the shed near the Quidditch Pitch. The early evening sun bathed the grounds in a warm orange glow, and Harry closed his eyes as he walked, at ease, if only for a little while.

* * *

At five minutes to eight, Harry rapped his knuckles against Professor McGonagall's office door, the sound quite loud in the empty corridor.

"Enter!" McGonangall's voice called out faintly from within, Harry opening the door and stepping over the threshold a moment later.

Professor McGonagall's office was similar in décor to her Transfiguration classroom – neat, clean and well-lit – albeit with a little more of a personal touch. At the end of the room before two large glass windows sat the Deputy Headmistress' desk, made of a fine, ornately-carved mahogany. Etched into its sides were impressive murals depicting the crests of each of the Hogwarts houses, although Harry noted with a small amount of amusement that the Gryffindor lion was slightly more exquisite than its counterparts. Along one wall there hung a few magical portraits, their occupants – by whose dress Harry realised were probably past Transfiguration Professors – sleeping soundly in their armchairs.

In the far corner of the room was a small cabinet, its frosted-glass doors hiding what looked like several shelves of books, although Harry knew for sure that Professor McGonagall's tin of ginger biscuits was also stored inside. The centre of the floor was covered in a thick rug whose decorative patterns were all various shades of red and gold.

Sat at the desk in an austere, straight-backed wooden chair was the Deputy Headmistress herself, a pair of gold-rimmed glasses perched on her nose as she read the topmost sheet of a small stack of parchment. She looked up as Harry entered the room, and smiled at him kindly.

"You're early, Potter," she greeted simply – although her eyes were crinkled slightly in amusement.

"Sorry about that, Professor," Harry replied, grinning. "I'll make sure to be late next time."

McGonagall shook her head, chuckling. "Sit, down, Harry." She pointed to the other – and, Harry noted happily – more cushioned chair across from her, the teenager obliging and seating himself a moment later.

"Would you like some tea?" McGonagall asked, a tray materialising seemingly out of thin air onto a clear spot on the desk. The teapot lifted by itself and began pouring a cup.

"Yes, please," Harry answered, the teapot turning to a fresh cup once the Professor's was filled. After a splash of milk and a teaspoon of sugar each – which a silver teaspoon stirred in gently, the cups sat gently down onto a saucer each with a quiet _clink_ of china, before floating to Harry and McGonagall's waiting hands.

Taking a sip, McGonagall looked across the desk at Harry. "I suppose the best place to start would be the beginning," she mused. "James Potter and Lily Evans were both exceptionally gifted students, even in the first few months of their time here. Your father, having grown up being doted on by his parents, Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, had already had some practice in magic – as is quite common among pure-bloods – and seemed to have inherited your grandfather's skill with a wand. Your mother, being a muggle-born, was not so different from our own Miss Granger, and proved to be one of the most studious first-years I'd ever seen."

Harry chuckled at the comparison, knowing it to be not far from the truth. "What were they like, as people?" McGonagall's eyebrows rose in surprise at his question, and he hastened to explain himself. "I mean, I've been told that they were good people, and I saw in the Trophy Room that my dad was a member of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, but honestly I don't really know that much about them."

McGonagall smiled gently, and Harry reckoned that she was admonishing herself for her clinical, academically-focused story. "Of course, Harry," she answered after a moment.

"Without a better way to put it, your mother was indeed a _good_ person. She was exceptionally kind by nature, and managed to make friends in all four of the houses, even in Slytherin." Although McGonagall didn't say exactly who Lily had been friends with, Harry already knew that his Head-of-house was talking about Snape.

"She was an animated, lively young woman," McGonagall remarked, her eyes shining slightly behind her glasses. "And her kindness was complimented by her exceptional moral fibre, although at times she did have a somewhat _fiery_ temperament." The Professor's smile widened a little with amusement.

"Your father, however," she continued with a small sigh and a distinct tone of fondness in her voice, "was _definitely_ a character when he was younger. He was… single-minded," she said after a small pause, Harry noting her choice of avoidance of the word _judgemental_ , "and he had no small talent for mischief. Despite his prowess as a wizard, I swear I must have given James more detentions in his seven years at Hogwarts than any other student in my career."

Harry chuckled at McGonagall's candour, taking a long sip of tea and motioning for her to continue.

"The antics he and his friends got up to were not unlike those of the Weasley Twins, and caused more than their fair share of chaos." The Professor chuckled as she remembered the Marauders. "Although, by the time he entered his seventh year, James matured quite rapidly, and despite _some_ childishness on his part, both he and Lily were model students by the time their last year here rolled around." McGonagall set her tea back down on the desk half-empty as she finished her reminiscence. Harry took this as an opportunity to ask some questions, hearing a few more things from the Professor about his parents' school careers, but otherwise kept his queries short and vague.

Although he could easily ask McGonagall about James Potter's friends, he had a feeling that the Professor would avoid talking about Sirius, or indeed Remus' relationship to James. For the time being he decided that he'd keep things simple, and let them play out as naturally as possible. After a rather entertaining anecdote about a prank James (and the Marauders, no doubt) had played on every student in the Great Hall in his fourth year, which involved making everyone's school ties spout rather creative limericks at whomever was nearest, Harry bid Professor McGonagall goodnight and walked briskly back to Gryffindor Tower.

In the original timeline, Harry had been told many stories about his parents from Sirius and Remus – and although he'd heard most of what McGonagall had told him before as a result, it was still enjoyable to hear tales of their lives. Harry's parents were, he thought with a small twinge of sadness, still painfully separate from him, perhaps even more so after his arrival from the future. Where the originally thirteen-year-old Harry would've drunk in McGonagall's stories as if they were the Elixir of Life, he noticed that now they mainly served to remind him of the void their deaths had left behind, a void he had never – no – _could_ never fill.

Indeed, Harry realised as he climbed the staircase past the Fourth Floor landing, he was reminded only too clearly of what he'd lost. Of all the people that he'd lost. Friends. Family.

His good mood evaporating with each new step on the weathered stone stairs, a voice spoke louder and louder in Harry's mind, drowning out all others.

 _You shouldn't be here._

Grimacing, Harry shook his head slightly in an attempt to regain his focus, continuing up the staircases to the Fat Lady's portrait without pause.


	19. A Grim Omen, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again, been a while. Writer's block is a bitch, huh? Anyway, I'm overjoyed at the following this story has gotten since its creation - nearly 90 favourites, more than 200 followers and over 100 reviews - I'm astonished and _very_ grateful for all of your support.**

 **Here's chapter nineteen, please enjoy, and follow, favourite and review!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

After Harry's exercise and breakfast the next morning, he sat with Ron and Hermione in the Common Room as the redhead attempted – with no small amount of complaining – to finish his Transfiguration homework. Whilst Hermione helped Ron through the essay, as well as reading Harry's finished one at the same time, Harry read through the Sunday edition of the _Prophet_ , looking intently for any new developments in the manhunt for Sirius. Aside from vague speculation on where his godfather might go having escaped Azkaban, the newspaper held nothing interesting. A knot of unease in his stomach that Harry hadn't noticed began to unfurl slightly after closing the paper – if there was no mention of any sightings, then Sirius was still out there. Even so, worry gnawed at Harry from the back of his mind.

He'd already changed things slightly by giving Sirius some food and chocolate to help fight the influence of the Dementors. What if that ended up changing something else? Harry knew it was without doubt the _right_ decision to help his godfather, but by altering the situation even slightly, a part of him feared that Sirius would end up caught, and then his plan would be for nothing.

This issue pressed at Harry's mind as he quietly ate his lunch, ignoring the laughter and chatter of the other students. Although Ron and Hermione could tell something was bothering him, they took the hint to leave him be after Harry evaded their inquiries and headed off, wandering the castle alone. Without looking where he was going, he found himself before the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy on the Seventh Floor. Recognition triggering in Harry's mind, he turned to the blank wall opposite, and paced back and forth, thinking of one sentence:

 _I need a place to think._

As he finished his third pass of the wall, a soft rumbling of stone signalled the arrival of the door to one of Hogwarts' best-kept secrets, the Room of Requirement.

Wondering what he might find inside, Harry pulled open the door and stepped through, ending up in what looked to be a comfortably-sized study, furnished with a gleaming dark wood floor, as well as similar wood panelling on the walls. At the end of the room sat a large, ornate desk and a comfy-looking chair, sheets of parchment already laid out neatly on the desk surface next to a gold-tipped quill and a glass pot of ink. Above the desk were two large windows that afforded an impressive view over what looked like a well-managed garden full of beautiful flowers, the sound of birds and running water just barely audible from inside the study. On one of the walls a there stood a tall bookshelf which was absolutely crammed with colourful books from a multitude of genres and non-fiction topics, some pristine, others noticeably old and worn. The whole room had an unshakeable feeling of peacefulness to it, and Harry crossed the room quickly and sank into the chair, the leather covering of the cushion creaking as he got comfortable.

Pulling a piece of parchment towards him and dipping the quill into the inkwell, Harry scrawled a header at the top of the page:

* * *

 ** _IF SIRIUS GETS CAUGHT_**

* * *

Drawing a small bullet-point on the left side beneath the title, Harry started thinking, the quill scratching on the parchment as he wrote.

A short while later, Harry snapped to his feet, snarling in anger and frustration as he swept the parchment off of the desk and onto the floor. He put his head in his hands, collapsing tiredly back into the chair as he considered the only likely conclusion his brainstorming had made clear.

If Sirius was apprehended, the _Prophet_ would undoubtedly rush to publish the story, but even if it was printed in the soonest subsequent issue, Harry would've been out of the loop for too many hours since his godfather's capture, and Sirius would almost certainly end up being kissed by the Dementors – the standing punishment for escaping from Azkaban – before Harry could even plan a counterattack.

In short, there was nothing Harry could do on his end to ensure Sirius' overall safety, and not for the first time since he'd returned to the past, Harry damned the Trace, this time for preventing him from putting every Tracking Charm he knew on Sirius before they'd parted ways in Little Whinging. Even if that wouldn't help too much, just _knowing_ where Sirius was would've been a godsend.

As he and Sirius had taken over the Order of the Phoenix after Dumbledore's death in the original timeline, Harry had swiftly developed a hatred of not being in control, of not knowing what was going on. His mind preyed on the endless 'what ifs?' that sprung up in the absence of concrete information, and the final conclusion that he was helpless in assisting Sirius any more than he already had was no comfort at all.

His compulsiveness was only further compounded by more than four years of working alone – aside from Dobby, of course – and he'd quickly learned that if he wanted something done, he'd have to do it himself.

And in this case, he couldn't do _anything_.

His thinking over and done with, Harry stood abruptly, destroying all evidence of his planning with a quick **_Incendio_** to the parchment, before leaving the room and heading back onto the Seventh Floor. Harry was about to return to the Common Room before he realised that with his bad mood, Ron and Hermione were more likely to irritate him and, ignoring the Fat Lady as he descended that Grand Staircase, he resumed his wandering.

Sunday evening passed by quietly for Harry, who'd sequestered himself in a far corner of the Library, avidly reading a spellbook titled _Defenders' Splendour: Defensive Charms for Protection and Preservation_. He'd already found several kinds of Shield Charms other than the simple **_Protego_** spell, including some interesting ones that allowed the caster to shield specific entrances to a room, creating something akin to an invisible, spell-proof wall that would repel intruders as well as Unlocking Charms if it were cast on the outside of a door. Harry tended to favour defensive magic where possible, as powerful offensive spells had a tendency to cause serious injury or even death, without doubt something he wanted to avoid. The opportunity to peruse the Library's extensive wealth of magical knowledge, though, was far too important to pass up, and Harry knew he'd be spending a lot of time there in the coming months.

By dinnertime – after checking out several books from the Library, of course – Harry found that his bad mood had largely dissipated, and set about enjoying the rest of the evening with Ron, Hermione and his other friends in Gryffindor, although Ron's mood turned slightly sour when he checked his timetable only to find out the Gryffindors had a double session of Potions first thing the next morning.

As the rest of his dorm-mates slept, determined to get some sleep before they had to face Professor Snape, Harry stayed awake, testing out some of the protective spells he'd read about on the curtains of his four-poster. Aside from silencing everything inside, the curtains were now protected from basic forms of brute-force entry, although Harry wasn't too sure the spells would hold up against sustained or powerful attack.

Although, he thought with a savage smile, that did mean that Pettigrew couldn't get to him even if the rat wanted to, as the bastard was neither powerful nor skilled in magic.

With that encouraging thought, Harry rolled over and quickly fell asleep, his dreams plagued by half-obscured terrors, and a looming sense of threat.

* * *

Sometime during the previous night, the consistently pleasant weather of the past week had taken a more depressing turn, and Harry found himself running through a steady drizzle early the next morning. As he ran, the cool air bit at his lungs more sharply than the day before – a clear indication of the approaching autumn – and the soft ground squelched under his feet as he thudded across the grass. The drizzle had been fairly light but non-stop, and Harry's exercise clothes were soaked thoroughly by the time he'd made it halfway around the lake. Water steadily dripped from his untidy fringe onto his glasses, kept at bay by liberal application of the **_Impervius_** Charm.

Harry wasn't particularly looking forward to his lessons today – save Defence Against the Dark Arts in the late afternoon – and already, several predictions had run through his mind as to how double Potions was going to go. Slowing gently to a stop, Harry sat on a nearby rock and looked out across the lake. With the drizzle and the morning fog the castle was almost impossible to see, the only indication of its presence being the somewhat spectral outline of the Astronomy Tower high in the sky. To his left and right, Harry could only see the edge of the lake and the tree trunks that ran alongside it. Indeed, without the knowledge that he was at Hogwarts, Harry could easily have imagined himself somewhere else entirely, looking out over a blank lake as the drizzle fell steadily from above.

Rubbing his hands together for a little bit of warmth, Harry found himself considering his relationship with Professor Snape.

In the years immediately after Dumbledore's carefully-planned murder at the hands of Snape, Harry would've happily fed the man to Dementors on a silver platter. Even into his late teens, he'd believed that the hook-nosed Professor had fully joined Voldemort that night on the Astronomy Tower, but the reality couldn't have been farther from the truth.

* * *

 _Harry was almost twenty years old when Severus Snape had abruptly shown up alone on the front step of Grimmauld Place early one day, and he'd nearly joined Sirius in assaulting the hook-nosed professor after the man had been dragged bodily inside. The sudden arrival of Dumbledore's killer had put flight to Sirius' sense of reason and self-control, and it had taken three people to haul the man off of Snape, by which point the professor's face was already beginning to bruise badly, blood streaming from his nose._

 _Once he'd been given the chance to talk, Snape's simple request that they use Dumbledore's Pensieve – which he'd brought along inside a small, enchanted snuffbox in his pocket – left Harry so confused that his rage was nearly forgotten. With Snape held under guard, Harry had wasted no time in plunging his face into the now-enlarged Pensieve's gently rippling waters, not emerging for several minutes._

 _Inside the Pensieve, Harry watched key moments of Snape's childhood, learning that the professor had – to some surprise on Harry's end – loved Lily Evans for many years. He saw that Snape had agreed to serve Dumbledore unconditionally out of fear for his mother's life, and that the old man was already aware – after Harry's parents' murders – that Voldemort would return. Indeed, Harry observed with no small amount of respect that Dumbledore appeared at least two steps ahead of Voldemort for years, at least until the night of the Dark Lord's return in the Triwizard Tournament. He was stunned to learn that the Headmaster knew of Voldemort's plan to have him assassinated, and that his death – despite the Dark Lord giving the task to Draco Malfoy – was simply a mutually agreed-upon plan with Snape, in order to both gain Voldemort's absolute trust and preserve Malfoy's innocence. Upon his emergence from the Pensieve, the weight of his realisation set in, making him sway unsteadily on his feet:_

 _Severus Snape was, and always had been, on their side. Everything he'd done, all of it, had been part of Dumbledore's plan._

 _"Lower your wands, everyone," Harry ordered quietly, meeting the kneeling man's gaze and trying to convey his understanding. Snape stared back at the young man in front of him, his right eye already swelling painfully shut thanks to Sirius' earlier 'greeting'._

 _"Harry, what the hell are you doing?" Sirius asked, his expression contorted in surprise and confusion, his own wand still levelled at the professor's face. He shot a look to the resistance members that occupied the corners of the dark basement room, and under his reproachful glare, the figures raised their wands once more._

 _Harry looked around the room, irritated that his orders were being ignored. Such things didn't happen too often, despite the fact that disagreements between himself and his godfather weren't particularly rare. The problem was that many of the resistance members – as Harry, Ron and Hermione often operated from the field to preserve the secrecy of the mission – felt more immediate loyalty to their commander: Sirius._

 _"Dammit, Sirius, he's on our side!" he exclaimed, his godfather falling slack-jawed with shock. A hushed silence fell over the room's occupants at Harry's statement._

 _"What?" Sirius rasped quietly._

 _"You heard me," Harry replied, "Snape's one of us," he continued as he flicked his wand, unbinding Snape before hauling the man to his feet._

 _"B-but that doesn't make any sense!" Sirius stammered in response, his arm shaking slightly._

 _"Sirius," Harry stated authoritatively, stepping between his godfather and Professor Snape, his arms raised in a pacifying gesture. "It's all in the Pensieve. Get Ron, Hermione and the others, they need to see this. I'll stay down here with Snape," he said quickly, Sirius snapping out of his confusion before nodding and hurrying out of the room. At the departure of their commander, the resistance members around the room lowered their wands and stood still._

 _After nearly an hour during which Sirius, Ron, Hermione and the other leading members of the resistance viewed the Pensieve, Harry's godfather suddenly snapped his wand into his hand and cast Memory Charms on the guards, before sending them away._

 _Snape raised his eyebrow at Sirius, who grimaced a little before handing back Snape's own wand, which he'd confiscated on his arrival. "This has to be kept secret," he explained shortly, Snape nodding curtly in response._

 _Conjuring a large table and chairs for the assembled group with a sweep of his wand, Harry gestured for everyone to sit. Looking across the table at Snape, he spoke. "Why are you here? Those memories explain your allegiance, Snape, but_ _ **why**_ _are you here, right now?" he asked searchingly._

 _The professor sat straighter in his chair at Harry's question. He cast a glance around the table, making eye contact with each person there before he replied. "Believe me, Potter, I wouldn't be here unless I had no other choice. The Headmaster himself impressed upon me the need for secrecy," he said quickly. "But…" he continued, "right now our concerns are more important. You're losing this war," he stated, ignoring the growl of anger that came from Sirius' direction. "Every day the Dark Lord continues to breathe, we come closer to failure. Waiting for the opportune moment," he said, glancing at Harry with an unreadable expression on his face, "is no longer an option. We need to work together."_

* * *

In the months that followed, Snape had proven himself invaluable to the resistance's operations against the Death Eaters, and a few years later hosted the resistance under Voldemort's nose at Hogwarts after Grimmauld Place's security was compromised. In the end, though, the man's duplicity had been discovered by the Dark Lord, and the hammer blow had fallen at Hogwarts.

Severus Snape had died on his feet, face-to-face with Voldemort.

Harry had long since dropped his vendetta against the Potions Master, and despite the man's many flaws had fostered a grudging respect for him.

 _Unfortunately_ , he thought as he looked out over the misty surface of the lake, _right now I'm just a student like any other, and Snape still hates me_.

 _This is going to be difficult._

Harry stood, and trudged back to the castle for a shower and breakfast.

* * *

" _Potter!_ " Professor Snape half-snarled from behind his desk at the end of the dingy Potions classroom, fixing the teenager with a sharp glare. "If you've bothered to do your summer homework, _which I doubt_ ," he said snidely, "you'll be able to tell us what potion we'll be brewing today."

Hermione's hand was already in the air, Harry noticed, as he quickly racked his brains over what essay he'd written back at the Leaky Cauldron. A few moments passed in somewhat uncomfortable silence, during which Professor Snape's expression grew more self-satisfied with each second, before Harry replied.

"We'll be brewing Shrinking Solution, sir," he said neutrally, keeping his tone calm as he stared back at the Potions Master, whose eyebrows narrowed slightly at Harry's correct response.

"Indeed," Snape stated shortly, an expression of distaste on his face, before flicking his wand, the instructions for the potion appearing on the blackboard next to his desk. "You have two hours. Begin."

The silence that blanketed the classroom whilst Professor Snape was talking was only barely disrupted by the movement of the students as they began chopping ingredients and murmuring the instructions under their breath. The next few hours passed in similar fashion, aside from the obligatory number of failures – apparently a standard requirement in any practical Potions lesson – which often included small explosions, foul-smelling fumes and copious amounts of swearing from the students involved. Snape stalked around the classroom, hovering over students' shoulders as they worked, issuing biting comments whenever he saw work that he deemed unsatisfactory, which was depressingly often.

 _Ah, and I thought I'd missed school_ , thought Harry somewhat bitterly as he sliced some caterpillars with his knife.

Although, Harry realised with a start, the silence that Snape craved in his lessons might actually be more helpful than anything else – without the opportunity to talk, he couldn't give anything away to the perceptive professor, for if there were anyone in the school other than Dumbledore who might figure him out, it would be Severus Snape. Indeed, Harry resolved quietly to have as few words as possible with the professor in order to keep any risk to a minimum.

With his aims clear in his mind, Harry busied himself with brewing the Shrinking Solution, ignoring a few pointed remarks that the Potions Master threw his way, as well as Malfoy's near-continuous sniggering in the background.

As the lesson drew to a close, Harry bottled up his potion, placing it on Professor Snape's desk before he began to clean up, although not before bottling a second sample – he might not hold a grudge against the professor, but there was no reason why the reverse should apply, he noted drily.

However, no unfortunate accidents befell Harry's potion sample – much to his relief – and he was soon headed to lunch alongside Ron and Hermione, the latter was markedly impressed with Harry's renewed effort in Potions, as well as his self-control.

The afternoon saw the trio head off to Charms, and then to Defence Against the Dark Arts, which, now that the lesson was actually upon him, Harry regarded with no small amount of apprehension.

Defence was easily his best subject, even disregarding his knowledge from the original timeline. The problem, as it often was, was with the teacher: Professor Lupin. Harry had already exchanged more words with the Werewolf than by this point the last time, and although he came to readily trust the man in his later years, there was no such foundation for their friendship here, yet. Remus was far more intelligent than he let on, his skills hidden beneath the shabbily-dressed exterior that he wore almost like a mask. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry realised that every minute spent directly interacting with him could be dangerous if he wasn't careful. He could brook no mistakes.

As the classroom door swung open, and Professor Lupin called for the class to enter from inside, Harry took a deep, slow breath from his position in the line outside, rallying himself. Seating himself next to Ron, towards the front of the classroom and as far from Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle as he could manage, Harry pulled out his textbook and looked up at the professor, who was smiling mildly at the class before him. After a few more moments, the rest of the students had found their seats and were now ready to begin.

Holding out his hands for quiet, although the gesture was largely unnecessary, Lupin spoke.

"Good afternoon, class," he began, his voice quiet yet carrying through the crowded classroom. "Welcome to third year Defence Against the Dark Arts. Although the Headmaster already introduced me, allow me to do so again. My name is Professor Lupin, and I'll be your teacher for this year." The professor paused, his eyes sweeping over the students a moment before he continued. "Whilst your first two years have been focused on basic defensive magic, the third year curriculum centres around dark creatures – how to identify them, and how to protect yourself forthwith."

The class was listening intently, Harry realised, which was at least a good omen – the departure from the previous years' syllabuses looked to be a welcome change.

 _Not to mention the fact he's not either a fraudulent imbecile, or possessed by Voldemort._

"Now, then…" Professor Lupin started, before he flicked his wand at the blackboard next to his desk, the chalk rising and sitting patiently in the air, ready to write. "Who can give me an example of a dark creature?" he asked the class, greeted by a large number of hands. He chose a student at random, and the lesson moved forward from there.

Harry kept his involvement light, only answering one or two questions – and earning a few points for Gryffindor in the process from the kindly professor – and before long Remus had silenced the class with another gesture, wiping the blackboard clean a moment later.

"Very good…" he remarked idly. "As your overall knowledge is fine for today, we'll move on to prepare for our first practical lesson, which will happen tomorrow afternoon." Looking out over the class, his smile faltered slightly, his features settling into a more serious expression.

"Who here has heard of a Boggart?"


	20. A Grim Omen, Part IV

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Chapter twenty for you all, would've uploaded sooner but chapter twenty-one did _not_ want to be written. Not at all.**

 **Otherwise - 230 Follows, 102 Favourites, 125 Reviews and over 28,000 views?! *Pumps fist in triumph* Thanks, all of you!**

 **Please, enjoy and remember to follow, favourite and review!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

He couldn't sleep.

Harry sat up in his bed, his movements hidden by the curtains of his four-poster and masked by the Silencing Charms he'd placed on them. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed tiredly, his thoughts running rampant and shredding any last hope of sleep.

He was five days back at Hogwarts, and the monotony of classwork was already starting to set in, despite his best efforts at paying attention. Potions remained the most difficult lesson, although that was mostly due to Harry's own inexperience in the original timeline than anything else. With how little he was sleeping, and how often his nightmares woke him when he did manage to rest, Harry was on top of his homework completely – much to Ron and Hermione's surprise. Of course, they had no idea that Harry's nights were spent lying awake in his bed, staring blankly upwards at nothing in particular, or down in the Common Room, surrounded by books and parchment as he worked into the early hours of the morning.

Harry abruptly threw back the duvet, climbing out of the bed and placing new Silencing Charms on his shoes as he put them on so that nobody would hear him leave. Pulling his Hogwarts robes around his shoulders and snatching his Invisibility Cloak from his trunk, he left the dormitory, heading down the stairs and out of the portrait hole.

A few minutes of wandering later found Harry climbing the staircase to the top of the Astronomy Tower. Already, the chilly night air bit at his exposed skin, the cold of the steady wind snapping him firmly awake. Reaching the top, Harry walked to the edge of the railing, looking out over the darkened grounds, the stars only faintly visible through the clouds above. The Forbidden Forest blanketed the hills into the distance, rustling in the wind. Harry stood still, leaning on the railing, and closed his eyes.

There was a strange kind of peace, up here in the wind and the darkness, he realised.

"Be careful, Harry. You wouldn't want to fall," a voice said from behind him.

Harry started at the sudden noise, drawing his wand and whirling about, finding himself face-to-face with-

"You," Harry said simply, keeping his wand raised, the red-haired woman looking at him with an amused expression on her face.

"Really, if I were anyone else I'd be offended at being greeted like that," she replied, placing her hands on her hips in a mocking impression of Mrs Weasley.

"Leave me alone, Gin," Harry commanded, stepping away from the railings, his wand pointed at the figure across from him. Rather than be dissuaded, however, Future-Ginny took a step closer to him, the amused grin not leaving her face for a moment.

"I don't want to talk to you right now. _Leave me alone_ ," Harry reiterated firmly, his eyes flashing dangerously as he took a step to the side, the two now circling each other in the centre of the tower.

Ginny tilted her head slightly, as if examining the teenager in front of her, before abruptly turning away from Harry and walking to the spot against the railings where he'd previously been standing, looking out across the grounds. Harry remained still, his wand pointing at the centre of her back.

"It's nice up here," she remarked, turning her head a fraction so that Harry could hear.

Harry didn't respond, his robes flapping behind him as the wind picked up, the air nipping at his exposed hands and face.

"Put your wand away, love," Ginny said quietly. "I've not come to fight."

"Then why _have_ you come?" Harry asked sharply, his wand lowering only a little.

Ginny was silent for a moment or two before she responded, her tone gentle and strangely compassionate. "You looked like you could use some company."

Harry was briefly thrown by her simple statement, lowering his wand further as Ginny turned around to face him, brown eyes meeting green.

 _What are you doing?_ A voice in his head half-yelled at him. _DON'T LOWER YOUR WAND._

"How does it feel?" she asked suddenly. Harry looked back at her, confused. "How does it feel to be here, surrounded by so many faces? Faces you _recognise_ ," she elaborated, her eyes flickering over his features searchingly.

Harry didn't reply, his eyes not leaving hers as he let his arm drop to his side. Despite his silence, Ginny relaxed and nodded to herself a moment later, as if he'd already given her an answer.

"I thought so. Cedric's looking well," she continued, looking at Harry intently, as if trying to read his expression. "I'm sure that was a surprise."

Harry sighed, rubbing his temple with his free hand for a moment, and with no small amount of willpower he slowly, _deliberately_ holstered his wand. Ignoring the voice in the back of his mind that was by now screaming for him to try and defend himself somehow, Harry stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pyjamas so he wouldn't be tempted to grab his wand.

"I'm surprised, Harry. I thought you said you didn't want to see me?" she asked, pulling a coy smile.

Harry grimaced a little, not really meeting her eyes as he thought up a response. "I don't," he answered matter-of-factly, before he continued. "But… something's telling me you're not going to leave me alone any time soon, even if I ask nicely," he explained somewhat warily.

"You'd be right there, love," Ginny said cheerily. A moment or two passed in silence, before she looked back at Harry, and gestured to the empty spot by the railing next to her. "Come here."

Against the impulse to remain in place, Harry tentatively made his way over, although he didn't look at Ginny as he did so. Instead, he firmly fixed his gaze on the horizon, watching the swaying mass of the forest that spread across the hills and into the distance.

"You look tired, Harry," she said kindly, and Harry could tell out of the corner of his eye that she was smiling gently at him. "Not sleeping?"

Harry wrestled with himself internally for a moment or two before he answered. "Nightmares," he replied simply, not caring to elaborate further.

"You'll need to be careful," Ginny said thoughtfully. "People might start asking questions."

Harry turned to look at her, frowning. "I know," he said shortly, his voice coming out sharper than he'd meant it to.

Ginny sighed, and placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry pretended not to notice. Silence stretched between them, Harry doing his best to ignore the presence of the woman to his side, the woman that he knew had died long ago, whose body he'd held in the aftermath. He hadn't noticed when he'd taken his hands out of his pockets and was surprised by the growing, steady throb of pain in his palms, which he realised with a start were wrapped tightly around the railing in a vice-like grip.

Seemingly realising that Harry wasn't going to further engage in their one-sided conversation, Ginny changed the subject. "Have you thought about Remus' lesson tomorrow?"

Harry's grimace seemed to give her all the confirmation she needed. "Boggarts are… strange. How is it that they always turn into something tangible, like a clown or a spider or a snake? What if…" she started, looking at Harry intently, despite the teenager fixing his eyes straight ahead, "what if your fear isn't a thing? What if it were more… _abstract?_

"It's worth thinking about," she continued, her kind smile returning a moment later. "I think you've had enough unpleasant surprises already."

"What do you-" Harry turned about, already mid-question when he paused abruptly.

She wasn't there.

Pulling his wand from his back pocket he swept it across the room wildly, his eyes darting to every possible hiding place. After a few tense seconds where all he could hear was the steady soughing of the wind and his own rapid breathing, he lowered his wand.

He was alone.

* * *

"I can't _believe_ how far this bloody classroom is from the rest of the castle," Ron complained loudly as he, Harry and Hermione made their way through the long, winding corridors of the Seventh Floor towards the North Tower.

Rather than seek guidance from the insane portrait of Sir Cadogan like the last time, Harry explained away his knowledge of where Trelawney's classroom was through his late-night wanderings over the years. Without Cadogan's difficult directions, the trio arrived at the trapdoor to the classroom with a few minutes to spare, and set about discussing the looming Defence Against the Dark Arts double lesson later that day as the rest of the Divination students trickled up from breakfast.

"Boggarts are just so _interesting_ ," Hermione remarked fascinatedly. "Don't you think?" she asked the other two.

"Well, I've never really thought about it," Ron replied sheepishly. Having come from a magical family, he'd known about Boggarts for years – although he'd never encountered one himself – and was one of several students who raised their hands to answer Professor Lupin's questions about them. "I know what it's going to turn into for me, though," he said, grimacing and turning a little pale – clearly considering his acute fear of spiders.

"I'm not sure about mine," Hermione pondered out loud. Harry shared a conspiratorial nod with Ron, as they'd had a small discussion about Boggarts with the rest of the boys in the dormitory earlier that morning, and the one point of total agreement between them was that Hermione's Boggart would _definitely_ be related to class, tests, or exams.

"Me neither," Harry replied – honestly this time – as he frowned, thinking. After the discussion at the top of the Astronomy Tower the previous night, he'd realised with a sinking feeling that the Boggart almost certainly _wouldn't_ take the form of a Dementor.

Dementors were awful, terrifying creatures, but as Remus had explained all those years ago, to be afraid of them symbolised, in a way, of being afraid of fear itself. Harry knew, deep down, that that was no longer the case. The minor irritation at losing the 'wisdom' that Remus had credited him with when they'd discussed Boggarts was nothing to the realisation that Harry now had _several_ very real things to be afraid of this time around.

He'd actually put together a list in his notebook in the early hours of the morning, and it had involved confronting some memories he'd definitely preferred stay buried. For a moment he thought back to the shortlist he'd made – it had been a somewhat surreal experience, trying to list your own worst fears – but Harry didn't have a choice.

* * *

· _Failure: for the mission to turn to disaster, and for Voldemort to return._

· _Weakness (Death? – Harry was unsure of this one): to be unable to fight or even move, like what happened with the curse on the Locket._

· _Loss: for everyone to die, just like last time._

* * *

The problem was, of course, that he had no idea which he feared the most. He was sure that it partially depended on his state of mind, and therefore he was effectively going in blind.

If he didn't know what the Boggart would turn into, then he'd have no idea how to make it amusing, as required by the **_Riddikulus_** Charm. It was even possible that the Boggart's form would give something away about Harry's true identity, which would be catastrophic.

He had no time to investigate an alternative means of fighting the Boggart to preserve his identity – although this would certainly have been a last resort, as it would definitely lead to dangerous questions. His total lack of a proper plan had been making him steadily more nervous since waking from a short, fitful sleep early that morning.

Secretly, he was hoping that Remus would interfere and take the matter out of his hands.

"I suppose we'll have to wait and see, eh?" Harry said as cheerfully as he could manage, smiling rather woodenly at his friends, which went thankfully unnoticed.

Before either could reply, the trapdoor sprung open, and a ladder slid down with a loud _thunk_ as it hit the wooden floorboards.

"Shall we?" Harry asked as he gestured to the ladder, clambering up quickly, the other students following him a moment later.

The already stifling, muggy air of the Divination classroom hit Harry like a wave as his head poked over the top of the ladder, and only got worse as the rest of his body followed his ascent. Truly, he'd forgotten how utterly horrid the atmosphere was in Trelawney's class and he grimly realised that this was perhaps one room he hadn't minded being reduced to rubble. He seated himself at one of the many round tables that dotted the room, Ron slumping down in the seat next to him a moment later. Within a minute or two, the rest of the students had finished arriving and they waited patiently for Trelawney to appear. They weren't kept waiting for long.

Seeming to suddenly appear from one corner of the room, the tall, thin professor swept dramatically into the centre of the floor, the many chains and beads that hung around her neck _clinking_ loudly. Looking around at the students from behind big, uncomfortable-looking glasses that appeared to make her eyes unnervingly large, she spread her hands wide and greeted the students, her ethereal voice carrying surprisingly well in the cluttered classroom.

"Welcome, children, to Divination," she began softly, "my name is Professor Trelawney. Broaden your minds…" she looked rapidly over the assembled students before gesturing upwards at apparently empty space, "…for in this class we shall look past the here and now, and into the _great beyond!_ "

Harry looked around the class – it seemed a fairly even split between students hiding grins or laughter, and others listening with rapt attention at the professor's display. Unsurprisingly Ron fell into the former of the two groups, whilst Hermione looked more than a little sceptical. Turning his attention back to Trelawney, he saw that the professor had swiftly moved behind her rather cluttered desk, picking up a flowery china teacup and sweeping her gaze over the students.

"Today, we shall be studying the art of reading tea leaves…"

 _Oh, dear God_ , Harry thought grimly. _I can't believe I'd forgotten how bad this class was._

 _Why couldn't I have picked Ancient Runes?_

* * *

Trelawney walked over to Harry and Ron's table, the former of the two currently puzzling over the lump of tea leaves in the bottom of Ron's teacup, trying to match it to the symbols depicted in the textbook in his hands.

"I think it looks a bit like a mountain, to be honest," Harry said quietly to Ron, showing him the symbol printed on the page.

"Whassit mean, then?" Ron asked sleepily, the heady atmosphere of the classroom clearly making it difficult for the redhead – and indeed several of the other students – to stay focused. Just as Harry was about to reply, however, the professor interrupted, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"The image of a mountain represents a journey, my dears," she said, holding out her hand for Ron's cup, which Harry handed to her. She took a moment's glance at its contents before shaking her head. "But such an image is not present in your tea leaves, child," her tone turned serious as she continued, ignoring the sceptical look on Ron's face. "As clear as day, I see the image of the cat – the deceitful friend," she finished ominously.

Ron took the cup from her outstretched palm, looking into it himself, his face screwed up in concentration as he tried to see what Trelawney described. In the meantime, the professor reached past Ron and plucked Harry's cup from the table, gazing at its contents intently for a few seconds before letting out an audible gasp of surprise.

 _Oh, dear._

"I take it I have the Grim, Professor?" Harry assumed in a bored voice, already resigned to the appearance of the familiar spectre.

Trelawney's head snapped back up from the cup as fast as if Harry had sworn at her. Her large eyes narrowed behind the lenses of her glasses as she glared at the teenager. "You should _never_ take such an omen lightly, boy," she snapped quickly. The class fell abruptly silent at Trelawney's reaction, and Harry could already feel the other students' eyes on him.

Before he could respond, the professor looked back at the cup, Harry catching only a snippet of her near-silent mutterings.

"…understandable, yes, but in such a number…?"

"Sorry, Professor," Harry started cautiously, "but what do you mean? _What_ , in such a number?" he asked, Trelawney's eyes once more meeting his when she glanced over the rim of the cup. The professor frowned, her pupils darting over the features of Harry's face a moment before she answered.

"Snakes!" she blurted out, her expression rapidly shifting from confusion and irritation to obvious distress. Someone at the back of the class let out a gasp of shock.

"Snakes?" Harry asked, already reaching for the textbook to see what was bothering the professor.

 _This is different._

"Snakes, the symbol of lies, of falsehoods!" Trelawney exclaimed as the students talked rapidly in hushed whispers. "Never, in all my years – they _surround_ you," she said, looking at him intently and making Harry feel a little uncomfortable. She abruptly placed the cup back onto the table, hard enough that the china cracked, before sweeping back to her desk. As Trelawney quickly read out to the students what homework she wanted for their next lesson, her voice sharp and sounding an awful lot like Professor McGonagall, Harry picked up the damaged cup and examined it.

Inside, somehow, the tea leaves had fallen into a web of interconnected lines like the wrinkles in the palm of a hand, lines that curved and weaved and overlapped, feeding into each other and spreading across the base of the cup in a chaotic roadmap that was at the same time too unnatural in its arrangement to simply be some kind of random chance.

Looking down at it, for a brief second Harry didn't see tea leaves, instead faced with a writhing, twisting pit of snakes, the texture of the sodden tea leaves looking alarmingly like reptilian scales.

Almost as soon as it had appeared, the vision was gone.

Harry's blood thundered in his ears as he stared down at the cracked teacup. As much as part of him wanted to believe that when she wasn't making prophecies Professor Trelawney was little more than a fraud, he knew that her observation was right. With where he'd come from, and what he had planned, this was no great revelation to him.

Unfortunately, the same might not be said of everyone else.

Rage reared in Harry's chest, the sick, burning anger smothering everything else as he visualised the consequences of what Trelawney had just done.

His fist tightened around the strap of his bag as he suddenly stood and determinedly made his way down through the trap door, not bothering to look back as the students stared after him.


	21. Fear, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Chapter twenty-one for you all, thank you for your continued support, and enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry's breath came in short, panicked gasps as he practically stormed his way across the Seventh Floor towards the Room of Requirement. His eyes darted rapidly around the corridors as he rushed onwards, sweeping every junction, alcove and doorway for anyone who might see him. After reaching the right patch of wall, he paced back and forth so fast he might as well have been rotating on the spot, hoping that his whirling thoughts did not disrupt the process of summoning the Room into existence. His heart nearly skipped a beat as he heard doorway appear, the rumbling of stone that accompanied it seeming to echo in the deserted corridor like the booming of a distant thunderstorm.

He darted inside, slamming the door behind him, and found himself in a large windowless chamber, one end filled with humanoid shapes – wooden constructs, clearly intended for target practice. Thin streams of white light shone from a fist-sized hole high in the wall to one side, reflecting off of mirrors that plated the arched ceiling, bathing the room in cold luminescence.

Dropping his bag on the floor, Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the first figure he saw, his heart thundering in his ears.

" ** _CONFRINGO!_** " he bellowed, the blasting curse striking the centre of the construct, turning it to splinters and ash with a loud _bang_. Even as the uncomfortable heat from the explosion washed over him, Harry picked his next target, obliterating it with a powerful _**Reductor**_ Curse.

" ** _DIFFINDO!_** " Harry shouted, the Cutting Curse slicing one of the constructs in half, shards of wood exploding outwards as the top half crashed to the floor.

His hands shook as he stood, lips pulled back into a predatory snarl, his wand nearly humming in his grip. The part of his brain that was urging him to _stop_ , to calm down and plan his next move was drowned out by the mad frenzy that pushed itself to the forefront of his mind, barely assuaged by school-grade spells and ravenous for more destruction.

" ** _FULGURIS MAXIMA!_** "

With a _bang_ that shook Harry's teeth inside his mouth, a single, white-hot bolt of electricity lanced from the tip of Harry's wand. Crossing the distance almost instantaneously, the lightning was no more than a few feet away from the construct when it split into tens – no, _hundreds_ – of smaller arcs, each spreading like the blast of pellets from a shotgun shell. The bolts utterly _shredded_ the wooden body, blasting through it in a rush of light and flame and crashing against the far wall, leaving the stone surface cracked and scorched as it dissipated.

But his anger wasn't spent yet.

Stepping boldly forward, the incantation was spitting from his mouth before he was even aware what he'd said.

" ** _FLAGELLO IGNIS!_** "

Flames burst from his wand, trailing out behind in an unnatural line. As if on some kind of autopilot, Harry advanced on the remaining constructs, the flame-whip of dark magic crackling with power as it dragged along the flagstones behind him. With a wordless scream of rage, he raised his wand above his head and brought the whip crashing down, cleaving the nearest construct in two and leaving deep, burning gouges in the floor and shattering some of the mirrors plating the ceiling, plunging parts of the room into darkness. Each step he took was punctuated by another slash of the whip, sparks flying in every direction whenever it struck a surface. The seconds of wanton destruction that followed felt like minutes to Harry, the teenager stubbornly ignoring the flashes of memory – his duel with Bellatrix – that appeared in his mind, gorging himself on the dark magic at his fingertips.

Oblivious to the carnage he was wreaking, Harry kept advancing, bringing his wand over his head once more only for his next step to falter, sending him crashing onto one knee painfully. The whip _crackled_ loudly before fizzling out as Harry gasped for breath, his vision tunnelling as his heart hammered in his chest – his thirteen-year-old body was clearly unused to such powerful magic, a small voice in his brain noted.

As he knelt, shaking with sudden, oppressive fatigue, his anger turned inward.

 ** _Fucking_** _Trelawney_ , he thought furiously. _Of course it couldn't just be the Grim, could it?_

Already, a picture was forming in his mind's eye: the stares and whispers that would accompany him as he walked the corridors, the strange looks from the rest of the Divination students, let alone Trelawney's reaction itself when she next saw him. He wasn't sure that the suspicion from the rest of the student body wouldn't rub off on Ron or Hermione, too. There would be eyes on him, now.

And what could he do to fix it?

The question echoed around in his mind, unanswered, as Harry roughly spat out the congealed saliva that had accumulated in his mouth. Before he could puzzle any further, though, the blind, consuming rage that gripped him faded almost as quickly as it had arrived, being abruptly replaced by a hangover of sickening clarity.

Harry forced himself to look up, wincing slightly as he examined the damage he'd caused. Scorch marks criss-crossed up the walls, large, angry-looking gouges carved into the stonework where his spells had hit. The room hummed slightly with magical energy, yet at the same time felt almost suffocating, the sickly tang of dark magic already detectable on the air, making Harry choke slightly in the enclosed space.

He'd lost control, and he'd lost it easily.

The mental dressing-down he was giving to himself was interrupted, however, by steady, stabbing pains in his right hand. Looking down, he saw a thin trail of smoke from the tip of his wand, and that – upon opening his tightly-clenched fist – the skin along his palm was badly seared, likely from his rampant use of the **_Flagello Ignis_**. The surface of his hand was blistered and bleeding, and before he knew it he'd dropped the wand with a _clatter_ , hissing at the pain which suddenly seemed to reach a crescendo.

Feeling a bit ill and berating himself for his carelessness, Harry spent a few minutes checking over the wound as the pain regressed to a dull throb, reluctantly deciding to visit the Hospital Wing. Professor Snape would definitely pick up on his tardiness, but there was little he could do about that. After picking up his wand and bag, he headed back out into the castle, an old argument he'd had with Sirius springing to mind as he walked.

* * *

 _Sirius snatched the spellbook from Harry's hands, ignoring the teenager's shout of protest, the older man's features pulled into a thunderous expression. He turned the book over in his hand reading the cover and spotting the empty place on the bookshelf nearby._

 _"What the_ _ **hell**_ _do you think you're doing with this?" he hissed angrily at Harry, the teenager practically jumping to his feet as he glared at his godfather._

 _"I was reading that!" he snapped, his own temper rising to match that of Sirius._

 _"Harry," Sirius began, staring hard at the teenager, "this is dark magic! You know I told you to stay away from these books!" he exclaimed._

 _"I know, Sirius," Harry shot back in irritation, rolling his eyes. "But I'm not a kid anymore," he continued, his voice rising slightly, "I mean, come on, I'm eighteen for fuck's sake! What does it matter if I read a book or two?"_

 _"It_ _ **matters**_ _," Sirius replied, "because the stuff in here is_ _ **vile**_ _, Harry! There's no reason why you'd need to know these spells," he stated in a tone of finality, something he often did when he needed to lay down the law, so to speak._

 _"You don't know that," Harry responded coldly, his voice quiet and dangerous. "You taught me, after all. 'Information is the key to success, Harry!'" he cried out in a poor imitation of Sirius' voice. "Now that I'm actually taking the initiative to prepare for what's out there, you've got the_ _ **nerve**_ _to sit there on some fucking moral high horse and tell me that I don't need to know?"_

 _Sirius practically growled at Harry's defiance. "Don't you_ _ **dare**_ _use my own words against me, Harry," he warned, openly glaring at the teenager. "You know that I'd never condone this." His tone turned pleading. "I grew up around dark magic, Harry, so believe me when I say that you're better off not knowing this. Crossing that line… it's something you can't take back," he finished quietly._

 _To his godfather's visible shock, Harry responded by laughing callously, his eyes holding no mirth when he finally replied. "Sirius, I don't_ _ **care**_ _what you do or don't condone. I'm the one whose destiny is to murder a Dark Lord and you're concerned with my ethics? Forgive me," he continued, his voice filled with equal parts derision and incredulity, "but coming from the man who abandoned his responsibilities as a godfather so that he could commit murder, I don't think you've got the right to talk to me about_ _ **morals**_ _," he spat._

 _Sirius looked like he'd been slapped, and what little colour there was in his face drained rapidly. When he spoke, the words came out stilted and forced, a barely-controlled veneer of calm doing nothing to bury the anger that lay beneath the surface. "If I catch you reading_ _ **anything**_ _like this again, Harry," he said quietly, "you'll regret it. You're treading a fine line here, and you do_ _ **not**_ _want to push me."_

 _The teenager stared hard at Sirius, a defiant expression on his face. Rather than retort, however, Harry simply pushed roughly past his godfather and stomped up the staircase to his room. Sirius had barely finished returning the tome to its proper space on the bookshelf before Harry thundered back down, hurriedly pulling on a jacket as he headed out into the back garden to Disapparate for one of the Order's safe houses._

* * *

Harry's lips pressed into a thin line at the memory. Sirius' role as some sort of moral compass for him pretty much fell apart after Remus' death – although his godfather had been leading the resistance for a few years, the loss of his last friend broke something in Sirius. As the war turned for the worse he became colder and angrier, and the thoroughness that used to accompany his expertly-planned pranks in childhood was applied instead to the brutality and ruthlessness of his operations against Voldemort.

If he were but a shadow of his former self in the immediate aftermath of his imprisonment, the Sirius Black that had died at Hogwarts was somehow even more hollowed-out than that, a wraith of a man, broken down and filled with vengeance and pain.

Despite his personal objections, Harry had grudgingly heeded his godfather's warning, and left the study of dark magic alone until they'd cleared out Grimmauld Place a few years later. With what he saw in the time after, however, and how the Dart Arts were used – particularly as the future turned darker and more brutal – the brief interest he'd enjoyed as a teenager was gone. With his commitment to avoiding killing, Harry's research into the Dark Arts in the years of solitude after the end of the resistance was extensive, but shallow. He often examined the basics of dark spells and rituals, but refused to look into further details.

To say that he was surprised – and disappointed – in himself at his almost-reflexive use of the **_Flagello Ignis_** , therefore, was an understatement. He knew that such spells required _intent_ to harm or destroy, and yet he'd somehow used one without a second thought, blinded by impotent rage.

In light of this realisation, he committed Sirius' warning more thoroughly to memory than before. It might've been made in anger, but he couldn't deny that perhaps his godfather was right.

Taking a shortcut down to the Fourth Floor, Harry managed to avoid the crowds of students as they made their way to the second lesson of the day, knocking on Madam Pomfrey's door after only a minute or two of walking. Explaining away the injury with some mundane excuse involving falling against one of the many flaming torches that lined the corridors of the school in lieu of electrical lights (which, as an afterthought, he realised _were_ actually quite dangerous). Despite her sceptical expression at his explanation, Pomfrey fixed up the burns in minutes, albeit scolding Harry all the while for his apparent inability to stay uninjured. Giving him a stern warning to be more careful and a tub of ointment to soothe the burn, she sent Harry on his way with a note to explain his absence to Snape, not that he thought it would do any good.

The small hope that the reaction to his storming out of Divination and unexplained absence from Potions would be small died when he entered the dungeon classroom. Harry barely repressed the urge to scowl at the rest of the students as every head swivelled, in unison, to face him when he made his way into the room. As predicted, Professor Snape immediately shot Harry a glare that would've surely sent any first-year running for the hills.

"I see that our resident celebrity has finally decided to grace us mere mortals with his presence," he drawled, although his eyes flashed with barely-restrained anger. Somewhere off to the side, Malfoy had started sniggering to himself, and Harry clenched his fist tightly in an attempt to rein in the desire to break the ponce's nose. Sure, it wouldn't help anything, but he'd definitely feel better afterwards.

"That will be ten points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, Potter," Snape stated shortly, the dry amusement that had tinged his voice vanishing in an instant.

"I have a note from Madam Pomfrey, Professor," Harry replied, walking to the teacher's desk and handing out the scrap of parchment, Snape snatching it from his hand a moment later.

After looking it over for a few moments, the professor turned back to Harry, his face pulling into a smirk. "Another five points for talking out of turn. Be seated, Potter," he said quietly, his voice carrying in the oppressive silence of the classroom.

Sitting down next to Hermione, Harry quickly started pulling out his parchment and quill – today was a theory lesson – in silence, refusing to give Snape the chance to take more house points. She spotted the bandages on his hand and shot him a curious, worried glance, but Harry waved her off.

" _Later_ ," he hissed under his breath, imploring her with his eyes to back off. Despite looking unconvinced, her reluctant nod is all Harry needed for the time being.

"Really, Potter," Snape said acidly as he advanced from his position at the front of the classroom, "one would think that you surely weren't _moronic_ enough to arrive late to my class and then immediately proceed to gossip to your classmates like an excited schoolgirl…" – Malfoy and a few of the other Slytherins laughed outright – "…but then again, maybe I was being too optimistic."

His tone turned biting as he continued, now looming over Harry and Hermione's desk. "Ten points from Gryffindor for both yourself and Miss Granger, Potter. If for some _unfathomable_ reason you dare to be late again for the remainder of this term, I shall deduct enough points from Gryffindor house as to remove you from the running for the House Cup entirely. Now unless you want me to give you a month's worth of detentions, I suggest for the remainder of this lesson that you. _Shut. Up_." With that parting shot, Snape swept back to the front, ignoring the murderous looks from the rest of the Gryffindor students, and resumed lecturing like nothing had happened, save the triumphant smirk he now wore.

* * *

Harry stayed resolutely silent for the rest of the lesson, unwilling to antagonise Snape further, and when class ended he was one of the first out of the door along with Ron and Hermione. The three walked quickly to lunch in the Great Hall, the claustrophobic atmosphere of the dungeons falling away with each step closer to the surface. It wasn't until they were seated, taking sandwiches from a large platter in the middle of the table, that Harry shot Hermione a small nod. The bushy-haired witch spent a moment deep in concentration, clearly puzzling over which question to ask him first.

"Harry, are you okay? What happened to your hand?" she asked rapidly, taking his bandaged hand in her own and looking it over for a moment.

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said with a small smile. "I was too busy caught up in getting away from that madwoman," – Ron snorted loudly at Harry's description of Trelawney – "and I was barely out of the corridor when I tripped over my own feet. With my practically _unique_ bad luck," he grimaced slightly, "I fell against one of the braziers and burned my hand."

Seeing the surprise and concern on his friend's face, Harry held up his other hand in a reassuring gesture. "It's alright, Pomfrey fixed me up straight away – these bandages are pretty much just for show. Not sure about my wounded pride, though," he continued with a grin. "I'm glad no one saw me falling arse-over-tit into a fire, I'd probably never live it down."

Ron laughed whilst Hermione admonished him for his language, the corners of her lips quirked upwards into a smile.

"Or at least, I don't _think_ anyone saw me. _I hope_ ," he added quietly, to a few more chuckles from his friends.

"I'm sure you're fine, mate," Ron replied, although his amused expression settled into one of distaste a moment later. "Snape was well out of line, though," he said grumpily, and Harry was pleased to see that even Hermione wasn't interested in defending the Potions Master like she often did.

After he and Harry had run out of good insults against Snape and the other Slytherins, Ron changed the subject. "What d'you two think about Divination, though? Predicting the future and stuff," he asked.

"If you ask me, the subject seems a bit… _woolly_ ," Hermione said with a trace of haughtiness in her voice. "I mean, reading tea leaves, looking into crystal balls? That's practically a cliché," she remarked somewhat dismissively.

Ron gaped at her, clearly shocked at her rather negative assessment of a school subject. "Who are you, and what've you done with Hermione Granger?" he asked quickly, eliciting a laugh from Harry and another light-hearted admonishment from Hermione, a bright smile on her face.

"Trelawney definitely seemed to me like she was kind of… not all there?" Harry supplied, "with all her blathering about the 'inner eye' or whatever." He frowned, his mouth pressed into a tight line as he continued. "I don't know what the _hell_ she was thinking when she read my tea leaves, though. I've got enough to deal with at the moment without her mad predictions." He cast a quick glance around the other third-years, watching for any obvious signs that stories of what happened in Divination had spread.

Hermione's expression softened, and she poked Harry lightly to get his attention. "Harry, you know better than to take something like that seriously, right?" she asked, her voice kind and reassuring. "It doesn't matter to either of us what Trelawney said," – her smile grew as Ron nodded vigorously in agreement – "it'll take far worse than some tea leaves to get rid of us."

Harry fought to keep the grin breaking out on his face under control. He'd forgotten how good Hermione was at reading people's emotions – it was if she'd read his mind.

The weight of the morning's events lifted slightly as he looked between his two best friends. "Thanks, guys," he said quietly, surprising himself at the genuine gratitude in his voice.

"You're welcome," Hermione replied warmly, before she prodded him again, "but I can't _believe_ that you stormed out of a lesson, Harry Potter!" she said, scandalised. Harry tried to look apologetic, although he was more amused at Hermione's telling-off than cowed by it. "That was very childish of you!"

Harry wisely chose to stay silent, although his amusement deepened when he remembered that Hermione had done literally the same thing in Divination the first time around.

"Harry," she began haltingly, the sudden lack of surety in her tone pulling Harry out of his memories, "are you _sure_ that you're alright? It's just… I've never seen you that angry in a lesson before." Worry returned onto her expression, and Harry found himself quickly thinking of an excuse.

"To be honest, Hermione, I'm worried about Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said apprehensively as he saw a flicker of understanding in Hermione's eyes.

 _At least this one's partially true_ , he mused.

"I barely slept last night, and I've got no idea what I'm going to face in there."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "It's okay to be worried, Harry," she replied gently, "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried, too." Her expression turned pleading, "but you need to tell us when things like this are bothering you, okay? You don't have to tell us everything," she added quickly as if she were worried that he'd refuse, "but we're your friends, Harry." She gestured to Ron, who nodded lightly. "What happened in Divination worried me, okay? You've never acted like that before."

Harry couldn't help the small feeling of guilt that reared in his chest, although it was quickly smothered by his disappointment in his own lack of control.

"We only want to help," she concluded as she touched Harry's arm affectionately. "As for your temper, try and keep it under control from now on, okay?"

 _Like I wasn't going to already, from now on._

"Yes ma'am," Harry answered jokingly, but he knew that Hermione could detect the sincerity underneath. He knew that he likely hadn't heard the last that Hermione had to say about his behaviour, but she seemed satisfied for now, so it would have to do – it wasn't like he could tell her the truth, after all.

The three fell back into easy conversation, enjoying the rest of lunchtime as they were joined by a few of the other Gryffindors, although none of the third-years ate as much as they normally would. Underneath the jokes and inane discussions there lay an undercurrent of nervous tension, the conversations eventually dying out completely a few minutes before the afternoon lessons were due to start. It was an uncharacteristically quiet group of third-years that made their way to Professor Lupin's classroom, the students looking either excited, nervous, thoughtful or – in Ron's case, for sure – downright ill.

The shabbily-dressed professor opened the classroom door after the students had spent a minute or two waiting outside, his expression calm, but serious. For once, not even the Slytherins saw fit to mutter under the breaths, as they were usually wont to do, when the students filed silently inside.

All the desks had been packed against the sides of the room, and in the centre of the polished wooden floors there sat a rickety-looking wardrobe, which would rattle and wobble loudly on its feet as the Boggart inside moved around.

Harry tightened his grip on his wand.


	22. Fear, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Chapter twenty-two for you all, please enjoy, and follow, favourite and review!**

 **I've pushed this one out a bit early - twenty-three is only half-done and is causing me no end of grief, but this has been done for a few weeks now. Here's hoping that flighty mistress, inspiration, returns to me soon!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry wasn't all that sure that preparing the students in advance for the practical lesson against the Boggart was a good idea, he thought, as he cast a glance over the rest of the class. The motley crowd of third-years assembled in a rough semicircle a good few feet away from the wardrobe, and Harry saw that many of the students were pale with fear, sweat beading on more than a few brows, their eyes locked on the door of the wardrobe. The group collectively flinched a little whenever the wardrobe rattled, the prospect of coming face-to-face with their worst fears setting the students on edge.

Even Remus could see that the class was worried, and sought to ease some of the tension by highlighting the advantage of facing the Boggart as a group, although only a few people looked reassured by that information.

After calling Neville to the front – just like last time, Harry remembered – and having the Boggart turn into a convincingly intimidating Professor Snape, only to be forced into a version of Neville's grandmother's clothes thanks to the **_Riddikulus_** Charm, the students fell into a rough line and prepared to approach the Boggart one-by-one. Harry stood close to the back with Ron, hoping against hope that there was still some way out of facing the creature.

Despite the rest of the class laughing loudly whenever the Boggart was forced into a comical form, Harry stayed silent, unintentionally ignoring Ron as they edged closer to the front of the queue. His palm, clenched around his wand in a death-grip, was already sweating badly into the bandages, the skin twinging slightly from the pressure. Every ponderous step forward was preceded by the loud whip-crack of the **_Riddikulus_** , the sound breaking Harry's concentration as he continued to attempt to predict the Boggart's form.

 _Crack!_

All of a sudden, the sound roared loudly in his ears, a deafening crash of noise that wiped out Harry's senses. As he reflexively pressed his eyes shut, an image burst into his mind, the presence of the Defence classroom around him supplanted by something… _else_.

 _Crack!_

He was sixteen, and he'd just taken Dumbledore's arm before vanishing in a blur of motion, appearing on a cliff-edge in Cornwall, the salty sea air biting at his lungs as the howling winds threatened to knock him off his feet.

 _Crack!_

His eyes flew wide open, the light flooding the classroom suddenly far too bright, sending a stab of pain through his forehead. His fists tightened as he took another step forward, the skin feeling clammy beneath the sheen of sweat. His heart hammered in his ears, his brain half-paralysed with shock.

 _Crack!_

Harry was twenty-two, and the faint, echoing report of spell-fire in the distance was all the warning he had before the tree trunk between Ron and himself was torn apart by a bolt of blue light.

 _Crack!_

The laughter of the students sounded muted to his ears, Professor Lupin's encouragement and congratulations murmuring quieter than a whisper. He took another halting step, not saying a word, but inside his head he was yelling.

 _Crack!_

He was twenty-seven. The lightning flashed overhead as Harry duelled, the shopfront behind him exploding into a cascade of glass and bricks and blistering heat. The Death Eaters' movements were a whirl of robes in the darkened alley, the hollow faces of their silver masks bathed in the glittering light of their curses.

 _Crack!_

The line shifted again. Harry felt an immense weight on his chest, his breath shallow and wavering. He thought he could see Ron glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, but with the way his vision was tunnelling, he couldn't have been sure.

 _Crack!_

The glass pane shattered around him as he leapt, Voldemort and Lucius' spells barely missing him as his body cleared the window frame, the horrid weightlessness of falling briefly silencing the agony in his cursed arm, the moonlit ground rushing up to meet him…

 _Crack!_

Everything snapped back into focus, and Harry nearly bit his tongue as he prevented a shout escaping his mouth. He shut his eyes against the light of the classroom, the scenes from his memory burned into his retinas. His mind was awhirl with frantic questions, his instincts crying out in danger at the sudden onslaught of sensory input. He pinched his leg hard, the rush of pain muting the cacophony in his head for just a moment, giving him time to wrestle his body back under control. He took a deep breath even though his lungs burned as if he'd been drowning, and carefully opened his eyes.

 _Stay calm, Potter. Breathe._

Looking up from the floor, he saw only a few more people between the creature and Ron. The redhead was muttering to himself, his freckles standing out even more than usual against his rapidly paling skin. In a flash, Harry considered refusing, or just up and running for the door, but even as he thought about it, he found his feet taking yet another step closer to the wardrobe.

Ron stepped up, the Boggart changing into a massive, hairy spider a moment later. It snapped its pincers and advanced towards the redhead, its black eyes glittering slightly. Shaking, Ron raised his wand and cast the spell.

" ** _Riddikulus!_** "

The spider's legs disobeyed it, each donning a two-tone leather shoe not unlike the kind Harry remembered from old movies about gangsters, and then started tap-dancing. Ron laughed weakly and stepped to the side, although Harry was so preoccupied with the Boggart that he barely noticed the encouraging clap on the shoulder that the redhead gave him as he walked past.

Harry stepped forward, and the Boggart began to change.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Remus make an abortive movement to intercept him, but it was too late – if the Boggart turned into Voldemort, everyone would see it.

Except, it didn't.

Harry's eyes widened behind his glasses.

Looming high into the rafters of the classroom stood an ancient, dilapidated stone archway. Deep cracks in the structure ran across its weathered surface like the wrinkles on the palm of a hand, and indeed it seemed improbable that something so damaged could possibly be standing of its own accord. Hanging from the arch was a tattered curtain – _no,_ _ **veil**_ _,_ Harry recalled – the black fabric rippling as gently as calm water, even though there wasn't so much as a breeze in the Defence classroom.

 _The Veil…_

Harry remembered where he'd first seen the Veil, hidden deep within the Department of Mysteries. And, hazy though his memory was of that day – a raid on the Ministry gone wrong in his early twenties – he didn't doubt that the Boggart had imitated it perfectly. He raised his wand, racking his brain for a way to neutralise it with **_Riddikulus_**.

That was when he heard the whispers.

Hovering at the edge of his hearing, to the point of being almost inaudible, were voices. None of them sounded familiar, but still their unintelligible murmuring persisted. He didn't know what he was hearing, but he knew, somehow, that they were talking to him. As if in answer to this realisation, the whispers got louder. Before he could stop himself, he took a step forward, his wand lowering slightly against his every impulse.

Suddenly, the Veil shuddered, the fabric fluttering intensely to a non-existent gust of wind, the movement snapping Harry back to reality. He froze in place, gritting his teeth and mentally berating himself for moving closer to the Veil.

 _This isn't real. It's just a Boggart. Cast the spell and get it over with._

Harry's wand arm flicked back up, the stick of holly pointing right at the centre of the Veil, yet he couldn't visualise anything to force the Boggart into – his mind was blank. Panic reared in Harry's gut as he frantically tried to think of something – _anything_ – that would do.

The Veil shook, and a voice called out, knife-sharp and ringing with power.

" ** _You don't belong here_** _,_ " it stated, the sound so loud that the classroom's windows rattled in their frames, the hair on the back of Harry's neck standing on end. The words echoed for a moment, the tone and pitch constantly changing, as if it were spoken by hundreds of different people all at once.

Harry bared his teeth, anger and disbelief smothering his panic in equal measure. He took a deep breath.

" ** _Riddikulus_** ," he snarled, the milliseconds passing at a glacial pace as he waited for the whip-crack of the spell. Only…

Nothing.

Nothing happened.

The Veil shuddered, flapping outwards towards Harry as if drawn to him.

" ** _We shall not be cheated!_** " the voice roared angrily, a sudden gale buffeting into Harry and staggering him slightly, his eyes watering behind his glasses. He raised his wand again, the sleeves of his robes flapping in the now-turbulent air of the classroom.

" ** _Riddikulus!_** " Harry shouted, grimacing when his wand sparked feebly in his hand. The Boggart remained stubbornly unchanged.

Abruptly, the strong winds died, and the Veil returned to its gentle swaying as if nothing had happened. Harry steeled himself for third attempt at the spell, when another voice called out.

" ** _Harry._** "

His heart nearly skipped a beat when he recognised the voice. It was _hers_ , but it was… wrong. Something about its tone alarmed his senses, and suddenly, Harry felt more afraid than he had in his entire life. It took all the willpower he could muster not to turn and run for the door, and the promise of safety beyond.

" ** _Come back to us_** _,_ " the voice said, a tenderness in its tone that felt anything but, whipping at his ears like the biting air of a blizzard, and equally as devoid of warmth. The Veil moved, and Harry could do little more than watch in horrified fascination as it began to pull back, a long, decaying hand reaching around the stone of the archway from the smoky blackness within. Someone screamed at the back of the class.

" ** _Come back to me._** " The hand reached out towards Harry, its skeletal, putrefied fingers grasping at the air between them.

Harry's wand hand tremored, his every instinct screaming at him to flee, to escape before it was too late.

 _NO._

His grip tightened, and the incantation hissed past Harry's snarling mouth. He didn't care what the Boggart was forced to become, he just wanted it _gone_.

" ** _Riddikulus._** "

With a loud _crack_ , the keystone of the archway fell out, landing with a _bang_ on the floor and shattering into pieces, the decaying hand vanishing even as it continued to reach for him. The rest of the archway soon followed the keystone, the Veil cut loose like and falling into a heap on the floor, only to be buried a moment later by the collapsing archway, little more than a pile of rubble at Harry's feet.

Relief washed over Harry like the warm embrace of sunlight, his expression calming as his panic faded into the background, his snarl returning to a smile of grim satisfaction. He lowered his wand.

"…Very good, Mister Potter," Professor Lupin said gently, breaking the silence that had fallen over the classroom after Harry's confrontation with the Boggart. Harry glanced over at him, the older man smiling kindly at him for a moment, before ushering Harry away from the remains of the Boggart, another student – in this case, a rather worried-looking Theodore Nott – stepping up from behind him a moment later.

Quiet chatter resumed in the assembled students, although Harry was barely paying attention to them.

"Harry…" Hermione started, grabbing the teenager's arm tightly, "…what _was_ that?" she asked, shaken.

"I… don't know," Harry lied. "I've never seen anything like it before." Hermione's grip on his arm tightened, and even Ron looked more than a little disturbed.

Hermione, who'd faced the Boggart before either of them, had managed to cast the spell with only a small bit of difficulty, particularly because the rest of the class found her Boggart – Professor McGonagall failing her on her exams – amusing all by itself.

"But… how can you be afraid of something if you've never seen it before?" Hermione added confusedly. "I mean, I didn't know what the Boggart would turn into _exactly_ , but it was more to do with not knowing which fear was my worst."

Surprisingly, it was Ron who defeated that line of argument. "What about people who're afraid of death though, Hermione? As in, not afraid of _dying_ , but afraid of death?" he proposed, Hermione's face lighting up with understanding a moment later.

"But seriously, thanks Harry," Ron added, cutting Hermione off before she managed to get into a proper discussion on the nature of Boggarts. Seeing Harry's confused expression, he quickly elaborated. "Well, whatever that was, I think I'm more scared of _it_ now than I am of spiders." He smiled weakly, although Harry chuckled at Ron's poor humour, gently patting Hermione's arm – which was still wrapped protectively around his own.

The rest of the lesson passed somewhat uneventfully, although poor Lavender Brown – who'd been the last in the line and had gotten quite worked up in the meantime – burst into panicked tears when facing her Boggart, and Remus had to step in and finally dispel it, awarding points to Gryffindor regardless.

After handing out a square of chocolate to each of the students, which Remus insisted would make them feel a little better, he stood in front of the small crowd and held up his hands for silence.

"Well done, class." He smiled encouragingly at everyone. "You've handled the Boggart – and your worst fears – admirably. In light of what you've all just faced, there'll be no homework for this lesson," – Seamus cheered enthusiastically, drawing a loud laugh from the rest of the students – "class dismissed!"

The third-years began to file out, many of them chattering animatedly, the tension that seemed to weigh on many of them – Harry included – disappearing as they left the threshold of the classroom. Harry didn't notice Remus' gaze following him as he walked out with Ron and Hermione, the older man eventually being left standing alone in the deserted classroom, an unreadable expression on his face.

* * *

Harry held back a grimace as he ate his dinner, his mind preoccupied with the events of the day. With everything that had occurred that afternoon, he'd almost forgotten about the incident in Divination.

Almost.

Things were moving in a different direction, and it worried him. Inwardly, he once again admonished himself for losing his temper in Trelawney's class. He couldn't risk jeopardising things through carelessness – yet at the same time, he had no choice but to acknowledge that both the tea leaves and the Boggart were outside of his control. He'd done his best to predict and manipulate events, but considering the circumstances, he knew deep down that it was practically a guarantee that things would end up changing on their own, or simply because of his presence.

Still, that conclusion did little to alleviate the feeling of anxiety that festered in his gut.

Harry spent a few minutes watching the behaviour of his peers to try and discern their reaction to the events of the day, making only a minimal contribution to the banter at the Gryffindor table. When he did notice several furtive glances in his direction from the other tables, particularly from Malfoy and his friends, who – knowing him – would be making no secret of the events of that afternoon, he did so with a feeling of irritated resignation. The only silver lining in the entire day, he supposed, was that the third-year Gryffindors appeared to be pretending nothing out of the ordinary had happened all day, in some small show of house solidarity.

He'd stood up to follow Ron and Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower, already looking forward to putting the madness of the day behind him, when Percy told him that Professor McGonagall wanted him to wait behind for a word. Sighing, he told Ron and Hermione to head up without him, and loitered whilst the students left the Great Hall. As the crowd thinned out, McGonagall walked down from the staff table, her expression unreadable.

"We'll talk in my office, Potter," she said quickly, striding purposefully past Harry and out towards the Grand Staircase, the teenager left hurrying after her.

The pair walked in silence, their footsteps echoing in the deserted corridors, slowing only when they reached the door to McGonagall's office. Harry followed her inside, shutting the door behind him. Professor McGonagall swept the large, pointed hat that she was wearing off the top of her head, placing it on the back of her chair before sitting down, gesturing for Harry to sit in the chair opposite.

Harry sat in silence as McGonagall looked at him appraisingly. A few moments passed before she spoke, surprising Harry at the lack of gentle familiarity in her voice, unlike their discussion about his parents a few days prior.

"Potter, I'm reliably informed that there was an incident in your Divination class this morning," she said pointedly, her eyes narrowing behind her square spectacles.

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied quietly.

"You walked – no, _stormed_ – out of a lesson," McGonagall stated sharply. "I expected such childishness to be beneath you, Potter, particularly considering your renewed interest in your studies."

Harry made a show of looking cowed at that.

"As such, fifteen points will be taken from Gryffindor for your poor conduct, and you'll serve detention with me the day after tomorrow, after dinner." McGonagall brooked no discussion, practically radiating disappointment from her position behind her desk.

"Yes, Professor."

Her expression softened slightly, and when she spoke again, the anger had vanished from her tone.

"However, I am aware of the circumstances of the incident – word travels alarmingly fast in this school after all – and whilst it was still unbecoming of you, I _do_ understand why you lost your temper."

 _No, you_ _ **really**_ _don't._

"Is that all, Professor?" Harry asked flatly, not meeting the witch's eyes.

"No, there was another matter I wanted to discuss," McGonagall answered, a slight frown visible on her face for just a moment at Harry's tone. "I've examined your work from our first classes, and after speaking to Professor Dumbledore, we've decided on a suitable compromise to accommodate your ability.

"You will still be attending the third-year Transfiguration lessons, and I will have high expectations for your work in class," McGonagall continued, holding her hand up slightly to forestall any interruption when she saw the flash of irritation on Harry's face. "However, starting next Thursday evening and every Thursday hence, I will be instructing you in Conjuration."

Harry's eyes widened slightly – Conjuration was one of the more difficult aspects of magic, a blend of both Charms and Transfiguration, usually restricted to O.W.L students and even then remaining at a basic stage only. Harry's own knowledge of Conjuration was limited, and this presented a good opportunity to expand his skills.

"Wow… er- thanks, Professor," he responded gratefully.

"Don't thank me just yet, Potter," McGonagall replied, her lips twitching slightly before her face became serious once more. "Conjuration is a difficult discipline, and although I don't doubt that you shall give it your full attention, I say now that it will not be a simple task for a third-year."

"I understand, Professor."

"Potter, from now on I don't want to hear about you losing your temper in class, is that clear?" McGonagall asked pointedly, her eyes boring into his.

Harry nodded.

"Also, you might want to bring your textbooks to your detention, as I won't have you waste time writing lines when you could learn something _useful_ ," she said with a slight yet unmistakable grin on her face. "Now, back to the Tower with you, Potter."

"Yes, Professor."

* * *

Harry bid Ron and Hermione goodnight very soon after his return from McGonagall's office, only pausing to fill them in on what happened. Ron was predictably outraged ("Seriously, you'd think she _wants_ us to lose the House Cup with the she docks points!") but Harry found himself agreeing with Hermione's opinion, that he'd acted out of line and would just have to deal with the consequences.

The jealous glare that Hermione sent his way when she found out that he'd be having extra lessons with McGonagall made him smile, although she was mollified when Harry promised that he'd tell her about what he'd be taught.

Tucking himself into bed a little while later, his exhaustion finally caught up with him. His thoughts faded into incoherence as he welcomed the gentle embrace of sleep.


	23. Fear, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Chapter twenty-three for you all, please remember to follow, favourite and review!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Whilst Harry slept, a single figure strode purposefully through the castle.

Remus Lupin was deep in thought, barely noticing the movements of his feet as he turned onto the corridor that held the entrance to the Headmaster's Office. When he'd murmured to Albus that he wanted to speak to him about Harry Potter after dinner, the old man's brow had lifted slightly before he'd rapidly agreed. In all the years that he'd known Albus, even from his time as a student, the venerable Headmaster had had very few physical tells, and would often keep his emotions hidden behind a mask of calm… _oddness_ – for want of a better word – to maintain control of a conversation. Dumbledore's reaction to Remus' request, despite being almost negligible to the casual observer, illustrated genuine surprise and no small amount of concern.

Remus wasn't particularly reassured by that revelation, but it didn't change the fact that Albus _needed to know._

Before he knew it, the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the office loomed menacingly over him. After giving the password – Remus found himself absently wondering how Albus hadn't run out of confectionery to use as passwords yet – he climbed the spiral staircase before rapping his knuckles on the thick wooden door that sat at the top.

"Enter!" Albus' voice called out from inside, the door opening of its own accord to allow Remus admittance to the office.

"Ah, Remus – please, have a seat," Albus said cordially from behind his desk as Remus entered the room.

The Headmaster was still dressed in the robes he wore to dinner a few hours ago, a rich, velvety purple that shimmered slightly as he waved Remus over, although they clashed rather impressively with the lime green nightcap currently perched on his head.

"As it's already quite late, I'll cut to the chase," Remus began, leaning forward slightly in his chair. "Harry was part of the third-year Defence practical today on Boggarts."

"Indeed?" Albus stared intently across the desk at him, waiting for Remus to continue.

Remus nodded. "For most of the students, the Boggart took fairly mundane forms – spiders, snakes, dark creatures and the like. I was initially worried that when Harry stepped up that the Boggart would assume the shape of Lord Voldemort-"

"It didn't?" Albus cut him off, surprised.

"No, it didn't," Remus confirmed, before continuing. "I'm not sure how to describe it – the Boggart turned into some sort of… _archway?_ " Albus' eyes widened behind his half-moon spectacles. "There was this dark curtain hanging from it," Remus added. "I don't know what it was, but… I think Harry _recognised_ _it._ "

Albus abruptly stood from his chair and began pacing back and forth, murmuring to himself for a moment or two before coming to a stop at one of the many bookshelves that lined the room.

Remus sighed and ran a hand through his hair, the silence between the two men hanging heavily in the spacious office. "I'm sorry, Albus, I should've done something, prevented him from-"

"What happened after the Boggart shapeshifted?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, interrupting Remus without turning around. "How did Harry react?"

Remus frowned at Albus' behaviour, but answered nonetheless. "For a few moments he just stood there, staring at it. I was waiting for him to cast **_Riddikulus_** , but he didn't – at least, not right away. He seemed shocked at its shape…"

Remus regaled the Headmaster with the events of the lesson as Albus resumed his pacing, pausing here or there to interject with questions and, in seemingly no time at all, nearly half an hour had passed, the large fireplace that sat against one wall roaring to life a little way into the tale, bathing the room in dancing orange light.

Albus had returned to his seat by the time that Remus had first described the disembodied voice that had rung out across the classroom, but despite his initial expectations, the Headmaster's reaction to this information was minimal, limited to a slight straightening of the old man's posture and a flicker of concentration behind his electric-blue eyes.

It was well into the night when Remus had finished the tale, both men now nursing steaming mugs of tea in their hands as the fire burned low in front of them, their shadows stretching up the walls of the office. Albus was deep in concentration, staring hard into the fire, the light reflecting off his spectacles in flashes of flickering amber. It was a few minutes before the old man spoke, and when he did, his voice was quiet and unusually reserved.

"Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Remus," he said, his eyes flicking away from the fire and meeting Remus' for a second before returning to the gently _crackling_ flames.

Another moment passed in silence before Remus lowered his tea, sensing that the Headmaster wasn't going to elaborate freely.

"Knut for your thoughts, Albus?" Remus asked, a slight smile tugging at the edge of his lips as he met the old man's gaze.

Albus' beard twitched. "At the moment, Remus, I've got nothing concrete. There's this feeling… _eating_ at me – like I'm missing something vital," he said with a sigh, taking a long sip from his mug before continuing. "It's as if I'm following the tracks of an animal, reading the signs of its presence after the fact, trying to string together events into a narrative that makes _sense._

"So much has happened since the summer, and in so short a time. Starting with the escape of Sirius Black," – Remus grimaced involuntarily at the mention of his childhood friend – "I've been catching snippets of something larger, but nothing that definitively tells me _why_." He gazed once more into the dying fire, a faraway look in his eyes. "I can see only one thing tying it all together…" he trailed off.

"Harry," Remus finished.

"Harry," Albus confirmed with a nod. "Something's… _different_ about the boy, but I can't determine what. Is it possible that he knows about Black, and the night of Voldemort's attack on Godric's Hollow? Could that explain the changes in his behaviour?" he asked out loud in puzzlement. "Or am I seeing conspiracies where there are none? Is Harry simply moving into the awkwardness of adolescence, as all of us have done at his age?

"Or is there something _else_ going on? But if it were, _what could it be?_ " he mused, his eyebrows tightened into a frown.

"These events regarding the Boggart are the latest in a string of occurrences around the boy, though thankfully not all of them are so worrying – he's displayed far more diligence in his studies even within this first week than I think I've ever seen from him, not to mention his newly-manifested skills at Transfiguration. The rest of the staff have had nothing but good words about his performance in their subjects so far, except Severus, of course," Albus added with a brief flash of humour.

"Indeed, Harry has the potential to be a skilled and powerful wizard, and if he remains as committed as he is now I can easily see him contesting the top spot for the year with Miss Granger.

"Yet," Albus sighed, "he seems… _guarded_ would be the best way to put it." He stroked his beard with his free hand for a few seconds before finishing up his tea. "He's always had a tendency towards shyness, but this is different, more cautious."

"He seemed fairly open with me on the occasions that we've spoken," Remus disagreed, "a little cheeky, and definitely quiet a lot of the time, but I wouldn't necessarily say that he's guarded."

Albus seemed to perk up slightly at that. "Truly?" he asked, the frown easing slowly as he locked eyes with Remus. "That is… welcome news. I must confess that I'm perhaps more worried than is due when it comes to Harry's behaviour," he added cryptically.

Remus shot the Headmaster a quizzical look, but Albus didn't say anything more on the matter.

"Now, I think I've kept you long enough, Remus," the Headmaster said, his tone once again light as he stood, straightening up and walking back over to the desk, Remus following in his wake. "I seem to forget how useful it is sometimes to have another's perspective on my deliberations, so I would thank you again for your presence tonight, you've been most helpful," he said with absolute sincerity.

"That's quite alright, Albus," Remus returned, a kind smile on his face. After exchanging a nod with the Headmaster, he turned to leave. His hand was on the door handle when Albus cleared his throat.

"Remus."

"Yes?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Would you keep an eye on Harry, when you're able?" the old man requested. "With everything that's happened, combined with his studies, he'll no doubt be under no small amount of stress." He shot Remus a piercing look, all trace of tiredness vanishing from Albus' eyes in an instant at Remus' nod of assent.

Suddenly, the Headmaster smiled. "On another note, I know that Harry hasn't had the opportunity to speak with any of his parents' friends, and if you so desired, you'd be welcome to get to know the lad – he really can be quite delightful," he concluded happily. "Goodnight, Remus."

"Goodnight, Albus," Remus replied, thinking over the Albus' suggestion all the way back to his quarters, and wondering how it was possible to feel _more_ confused about the events of the day now than he had before he'd gone up to see the Headmaster in the first place.

* * *

Harry's nightmares were frantic, full of jumbled colours and sounds, yet always returning to the gentle, unnerving fluttering of the Veil, running as a constant in the background of the scenes that flashed through his subconscious, but ceaselessly foreboding, bearing down on his mind like a faraway storm, rolling ever closer to an orchestra of thunderous whispers.

The Silencing Charms on his bed prevented him from hearing the figure stalking their way carefully into the dormitory, the floorboards creaking quietly under its boots as it crept across the room.

Harry twisted in his sheets, sweat beading on his forehead, his wand lying on the bedside table only a few feet away.

The figure gently pulled aside the curtains of the four-poster, revealing the sleeping boy within. Its hand reached forward, ready to-

Harry's eyes flew open as his senses screamed out in danger. He barely registered the figure looming over his bed as his arm darted out, snatching his wand from the nightstand and rapidly casting a Shield Charm, flooding the room with bright light. Not wasting a second as the figure recoiled with a hiss of alarm, Harry threw himself sideways out of the bed, landing with a _thump_ on the floor, Disillusioning himself a moment later. The figure hurried around the corner of the bed, its face hitting the moonlight shining through the window, revealing-

"Oliver!?" Harry gasped out in disbelief, lowering the charm on himself as the seventh-year visibly jumped in surprise. "What the _fuck_ are you doing?" he hissed out sharply, suddenly aware of just how much noise he'd made escaping from bed.

" _Bloody hell_ , Harry," Wood replied, clutching his heart through the front of his Quidditch robes. "You scared the crap out of me!"

"Says the guy who snuck up on me _while I was asleep_ at…" – Harry checked his watch – "five-thirty in the _fucking morning?_ " he exclaimed in a harsh whisper as he clambered to his feet.

Wood at least had the decency to look admonished, scratching the back of his head as he avoided Harry's gaze. "Yeah, well, I'm sorry about that, Harry," he responded quietly, "I had no idea that you'd react like that. Nice reflexes, by the way," he added, his lips twitching slightly. "It's good to know that you haven't let yourself go over the summer. Where'd you learn to do Disillusionment Charms like that?"

 _Shit._

"Oh, you know, after everything that happened last year I wanted to make sure I could protect myself," Harry vaguely replied. "I did a lot of research over the summer and I've been practicing since I got back to school."

"That's O.W.L year stuff, Harry," Wood whispered back, raising his eyebrows in obvious scepticism. "Anyway…" the seventh-year trailed off as he glanced around the room at the other beds, which so far had lain undisturbed despite the ruckus, and appeared to think better of continuing their conversation. "Get your kit on and meet me in the Common Room in five minutes," he ordered and crept out of sight.

Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair in irritation – although he wouldn't describe the night's sleep as 'good', it was no less annoying that Wood had disturbed what little rest he'd been getting. But there was nothing else for it, he thought, throwing on some underclothes and getting into his Quidditch gear.

Bleary-eyed and broom in hand, Harry half-stumbled down the stairs to the Common Room to find the rest of the Gryffindor team assembled by the fire, and for all of them, save Wood, looking like they'd prefer to be _anywhere_ else.

"Well, look here, Forge," one of the Weasley twins said when they saw Harry making his way over, "it appears that his royal sleepiness has finally…" – he trailed off as a loud yawn forced its way out of his mouth – "…decided to grace us with his presence."

"Indeed, Gred," replied the other. "Why, he must feel positively _invigorated_ after all that extra shuteye he's managed to grab whilst we mere peasants awaited his arrival," he added sarcastically.

"Shut up, you two," Harry growled, glaring at the two snickering redheads.

"Alright, guys," Wood stated loudly, the three Chasers – Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell – all wincing at the volume of his voice, "On your feet. Let's get down to the pitch." Without further ado, he swept from the room and out of the portrait hole, followed shortly after by Harry and the others, grumbling quietly all the way.

"If Wood wakes me up like that again, I'm gonna hex him into next week," Harry groused under his breath as the team trudged across the twilit grounds towards the Quidditch pitch.

"Join the queue, mate," Fred and George replied simultaneously, their eyes glinting mischievously.

"I assume he didn't sneak into the girls' dormitories as well?" Harry asked the pair as he breathed onto his fists to warm up his fingers.

"Oh, I'm sure Ollie would've if he could," one of the twins – Fred? – mused out loud.

"But since they're off-limits to boys, we reckon he just told them last night before they went to bed," George concluded grumpily.

"That bastard," Harry swore quietly, although he couldn't help the small grin that worked its way onto his face. He'd forgotten about Wood's tenacity when it came to Quidditch. Thankfully, it seemed that that tenacity was working in his favour, as Wood seemed to have forgotten entirely about Harry's spellwork in the dormitory – the seventh-year was already talking animatedly with the Chasers about strategy, although the conversation seemed decidedly one-sided.

Once they'd reached the changing rooms, however, Harry's improving mood took a nosedive when he saw the multitude of blackboards – covered in obscure and complicated diagrams – that Wood had set up for the team to study.

Holding back a particularly strong grimace, Harry slumped down into one of the chairs and did his best to tune out for the next hour and a half.

In the end, they'd only gotten in about thirty minutes of _actual_ practice, and everyone was so tired that their performance was sub-par at best, much to Wood's obvious distress. After changing into their school robes – which had helpfully appeared in the changing rooms when they finished practice – the team returned to the Great Hall for breakfast.

* * *

Harry stabbed dejectedly at his scrambled eggs with his fork, pretending not to notice the multitude of students that stared warily at him from their house tables.

It seemed that the rumours surrounding the events of yesterday had properly disseminated amongst the student body overnight, and after walking in from Quidditch practice, the hope of a peaceful breakfast had been pushed firmly out of Harry's mind. He'd barely taken a single stride into the room before the loud conversations that permeated the room suddenly began to die off, leaving a thick, uncomfortable silence in their wake.

Although the attention didn't get under his skin in the same way it would have when he was younger, it was no less irritating, he realised with a grimace. As much as he wanted to find some way to force the students to ignore him, he knew that there wasn't a workable solution.

As it was, he'd just have to bear it.

Hermione and Ron, at least, noticed his obvious discomfort, and promptly left their own breakfasts when Harry stood and made his way out of the hall.

"Harry, when'd you get up this morning?" Ron asked quickly as the trio climbed the Grand Staircase, heading back to Gryffindor Tower to prepare for the double Herbology lesson they had after breakfast.

"Half-five," Harry replied wearily. The lack of proper rest was already affecting his mood, and he couldn't bring himself to engage in a long conversation with his friends.

" _Bloody hell_ ," Ron gasped. "Wood must be really serious about winning the Cup."

"He is," Harry confirmed. "I should know, he snuck into the dorm to wake me up," he added, making no attempt to hide his irritation at the captain's antics.

"What?" Hermione exclaimed in surprise.

Harry gestured to Ron as he continued. "I'm surprised that you slept through it, considering that I tried to hex him," he finished with a grin as Ron chuckled and Hermione tutted in disapproval.

Having collected their Herbology equipment a few minutes later, they arrived at the Greenhouses just as the assembled students were making their way inside and so, slightly out of breath, Harry resigned himself to three hours of mud, grime and wrestling with plants that had far too many lethal characteristics for his liking.

His mood was so poor by the end of the lesson that he told Ron and Hermione he had some homework to check over – which actually wasn't a total lie, as Professor Flitwick was expecting an essay to be turned in that afternoon – and snatched a few sandwiches from the Great Hall so that he could eat in the peaceful silence of the dormitory, a spellbook open in his lap.

The afternoon passed free of any activity, with History of Magic providing him with an invaluable nap – to which he was sure that the jealous glares the Weasley twins sent him as he passed them on his way to Charms were related. The only further irritation of the day was Malfoy's presence in Flitwick's class, although Harry was totally disinterested in the ponce's taunting, which seemed to only make Malfoy angrier, much to the rest of the Gryffindors' amusement.

Dinner was thankfully quiet – the obvious glaring from the rest of the students had started to calm down since breakfast (at the Hufflepuff table, at least) – and Harry was inwardly glad that he hadn't gone back another year, as dealing with the 'Heir of Slytherin' debacle again would've been a real uphill struggle.

Thank god he only had to deal with Dementors this year instead of Basilisks or insane Dark Lords.

The third-years had their weekly Astronomy lesson at midnight, and Harry nearly fell asleep at his telescope as they watched the quiet night sky.

As he flopped onto his comfortable mattress half an hour later, Harry had never been more glad to have a proper bed again in his life, and fell almost straight into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.


	24. Necessary Evil, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone! Here's chapter twenty-four for you enjoyment, please remember to follow, favourite and review if that's your jam.**

 **I'd like to apologise for my extended absence from updating - just over two months now - but real life muscled in on me, coupled with a total loss of inspiration and my earlier haste to update biting into my reserve chapters. This one has been done for weeks now, but twenty-five has given me a lot of grief. It got to the point that I was forcing myself to write, only to go back and delete it the next day, because it wasn't what I wanted. That said, it's pretty much done now, and I've got a solid plan for the next few, so with any luck subsequent updates should be less far between.**

 **Once again, I'd like to thank every one of you who's taken the time to read my work. Over 300 follows, 150 favourites and more than 49,000 views. I'd never imagined I'd have this much support from all of you, so thank you again!**

 **Enough from me, on to the story!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry made his way to Professor McGonagall's office the next evening for his detention, heading straight inside as per the instructions she'd given him in Transfiguration earlier in the day. The office was unoccupied, but Harry knew that sitting around to wait for McGonagall would only serve to irritate the professor, and instead sat down at the small, featureless desk that McGonagall had no doubt prepared for him, fishing out his schoolbooks and parchment.

He'd made decent headway into his Transfiguration homework in the few minutes that passed before McGonagall entered, nodding with approval at his diligence. The next hour crept by in near-total silence, as Harry moved swiftly through several of the week's essays and McGonagall sat at her desk, marking homework.

"That's enough, Potter," McGonagall said quietly as Harry added another completed essay to the small pile on one corner of his desk.

Looking up, Harry laid down his quill and sat back in his chair. "Yes, Professor," he replied.

"Now then, Potter," McGonagall said as she looked across at him over steepled fingers. "Since I've a little while to spare, I'd like to discuss our lessons on Conjuration that will begin next week."

"Oh?" Harry answered as he carefully returned his things to his bag.

"As I don't have an abundance of time that I can devote to these, a significant portion of your theoretical knowledge will be gained through self-study," she looked at him piercingly, brooking no disagreement from the teenager. "I will assign you reading materials on the topic, and you _will_ read them in time for the appropriate lesson, where we'll discuss the theory and study the practical components of Conjuration.

"I'm going to make myself perfectly clear, Potter," McGonagall leaned forward slightly as her voice became a little harder, "these lessons are a _privilege_ , and if I find that you cannot handle them in addition to your current studies, I will halt them.

"I have _one rule_ : you will _only_ practice practical Conjuration with myself or another professor there to supervise. No exceptions. It is not only because of the difficulty of this discipline that it is typically restricted to your O.W.L year, but also because of the potentially disastrous results if it is not taken seriously. Do you understand?" she asked pointedly, her eyes boring into Harry's.

"Yes, Professor."

"Good," her expression softened and she smiled gently at him. "Your detention is over. Return to your dormitory," she ordered, albeit kindly.

Harry stood and bid McGonagall goodnight before heading back up to Gryffindor Tower.

* * *

A few days later found Harry lying awake in his bed, staring at the darkened ceiling, his thoughts centred around one person:

Sirius.

There'd been little to no word of his godfather in the _Daily Prophet_ aside from wild speculation, but Harry still found it difficult to ignore the twinge of fear that coiled in his gut as he unfolded the wizarding paper every morning over his breakfast.

Too much depended on Sirius' freedom for anything to go wrong. If something happened, then his strategy would have to change. Relying on such an unpredictable variable was already taking its toll on him – he wasn't sleeping any better at night, and he was becoming increasingly distracted in the daytime, to the point that, had Ron not seen it a moment beforehand, he would've been taken by surprise when Malfoy threw a hex at him in one of the corridors.

In his head, he kept repeating the same sentence, like a mantra: _no news is good news._

Without his godfather, any hope of actively working against Voldemort's return would be lost. He'd already laid the groundwork for his permanent departure from Privet Drive – he _definitely_ didn't call the place home anymore, and with the confrontation with his Aunt and Uncle the day he left, he had little doubt that the magical protections there had fallen. This was doubly true if the Dursleys had decided to move out of Privet Drive entirely, and Harry doubted that they'd consent to taking him back even if they were paid for it.

Dumbledore likely already knew – _and hopefully hadn't been able to stop it,_ he added sourly – but hadn't yet met with him to discuss his lodgings for the summer. It was this, more than anything else, that quashed the small voice in the back of his mind that begged him to tell the old man everything.

Dumbledore had died when Harry was sixteen, and the war had raged more than a decade after. The Headmaster had never explained to him whatever plans or strategies he'd devised to ensure Voldemort's defeat. Dumbledore took those secrets, whatever they were, to his grave. Harry had only ever discerned one vague directive: destroy the Horcruxes.

Whatever help the Headmaster could be if Harry even managed to convince him of his story was offset by the old man's reticence when it came to secrets and strategy. Dumbledore would surely take charge, and where Harry might've once welcomed the easing of his own responsibility, he couldn't abandon it now. If Dumbledore didn't trust the thirteen-year-old Harry enough to be frank with him about his future – or indeed, the _true_ importance of Sirius Black when the former was ostensibly out to murder him – then Harry couldn't trust him in response.

Even as he reached that painful realisation, a memory flashed through his mind: Dumbledore, writhing on a dusty, dilapidated floor, screaming in agony as the cursed ring sealed his fate.

 _No,_ Harry justified to himself quietly. _Keeping Dumbledore out of this is as much for the old man's own good as it is mine._

He could only hope that the Headmaster wouldn't figure it out on his own.

In the end Harry firmly concluded that the only way this would get done was _his_ way, and for that, he needed Sirius – his godfather's freedom from the Trace, his skills, and the advantages of having a wizard as a permanent guardian, not to mention a home from where he could operate.

His godfather's exoneration was therefore both a matter of necessity, and a wrong that needed to be put right.

He kept a watchful eye on Scabbers whenever he could, his hand never far from his wand.

* * *

The next fortnight passed in a blur of tense boredom for Harry. He'd managed to prevent any further incidents in any of his lessons, save for somewhat regular sessions of verbal sparring with Malfoy and his cronies. Thus, the interest in him from the rest of the students waned, and before long he was back to operating (mostly) incognito. His routine had stabilised, from alternating exercise and Quidditch practice in the increasingly brisk mornings, to attending the still irritatingly simple lessons, to doing homework or hanging out with Ron and Hermione in the evenings, to spell practice in abandoned classrooms late at night.

Without the Hippogriff incident and the ensuing blow to Hagrid's confidence, Care of Magical Creatures continued to remain surprising for the third-years. In a strange coincidence tying in with the creature-focused Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum, they'd moved on to study Acromantulas, at least from a theoretical perspective, as Hagrid had thankfully avoided bringing any live ones along for the class to examine. Despite his lack of interest in the class material, Harry couldn't help but feel pleased for the Gamekeeper-turned-Professor, as Hagrid had quickly taken to teaching, and appeared to be enjoying himself immensely.

Unfortunately, Harry had also noticed that Remus was paying more attention to him, both during and outside of their lessons together. It was clear that the Werewolf was watching him, but to what end? He was certain that Remus wouldn't have ill intent, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that prickled at the back of his neck when he noticed Remus' eyes on him. There had been a few moments in class where, after having answered a question or contributed to an in-class discussion, Remus' eyes would linger on him and the professor seemed to want to say something more, only to turn away. Still, Harry didn't press any interactions with the Werewolf – for every voice that urged him to kindle a friendship with Remus, an equal number cried warnings, and he reminded himself of the dangers of being discovered before he was ready. Caution won out, at least for the time being.

Trelawney had taken to simply ignoring his existence in Divination, which despite outraging Hermione suited him just fine. Making little more than the bare minimum of effort in the stuffy classroom left lesson time free for him to work on his Conjuration theory for McGonagall. Their first full lesson on the discipline had focused on Conjuration in relation to specific Charms, examining the workings of spells such as **_Aguamenti_**.

Their second lesson, however, proved to be much more interesting.

* * *

McGonagall gave him a piercing stare over the top of her spectacles, before gesturing to the white sheet laid out on the stone floor in front of them.

"We'll not only be studying the skills of Conjuration, but accuracy and finesse in its execution. Even a competent effort can be squandered if your awareness of the existing environment slips," she stated quickly, before drawing her wand from her sleeve. With a flourish, a fine, straight-backed wooden chair sprung into existence in the middle of the sheet.

"You'll notice," McGonagall continued as Harry stepped forward to examine the chair, "that the chair that I've conjured appears well-made. Sufficient skill and concentration when conjuring objects allows for such embellishments. In terms of function, however, this chair is no more useful than a similar one of a more… _austere_ design." As if to punctuate that point she flicked her wand and a second chair appeared next to the first.

Whereas one wouldn't look out of place at an antique dining table somewhere, the other seemed to have been hewn by nothing more precise than an axe, a solid, featureless block of wood that shaped roughly into a seat about halfway up.

"The key to successful Conjuration is awareness, concentration, and _visualisation_ ," McGonagall explained. "A lack of focus can lead to unintended consequences, some of which can be very dangerous." With another flick of her wand, the two chairs vanished.

"Now," she said, turning towards Harry, "before we can start creating objects from thin air, you'll need to get a feel for the different materials you can conjure – that is, how to create wood, stone, or the like.

"An object created through Conjuration retains most of the physical characteristics it would possess had it been fully real, but with some limitations – whilst conjured objects can appear ornate or complex the reality is that they are the opposite, remaining as simple as possible at all times. For instance, if you were to conjure a log, it would be missing the imperfections you would expect to find in a real one – no interior cracks, no changes in density or moisture, and no defining components such as growth rings.

"Furthermore, there is the issue of permanence," McGonagall continued, "as the power behind any Conjuration is that of the caster, there can be great differences in the duration and overall stability of any conjured object. I don't expect that your first efforts will last any longer than a few minutes, but such an outcome is completely normal."

Harry briefly remembered the silver hand that Voldemort had bestowed upon Peter Pettigrew, and returned McGonagall's explanations with a question.

"So, does that mean that _permanent_ Conjuration is possible?" he asked, McGonagall's eyebrow raising in surprised approval at his inquiry.

"Technically, there are no hard limits with Conjuration," she replied, "but the reality is more complicated than such a conclusion – I have little doubt that Headmaster Dumbledore, for example, could perform _some_ permanent conjurations, but it would undoubtedly depend on the size and complexity of whatever was being conjured. As it is, however, permanent Conjuration is one of the rarest forms of magic, and most witches and wizards never reach that level of proficiency and power.

"Now, I want you to conjure a small cube of wood," she instructed. "Visualise it, understand the material – what kind of wood is it made from? Does it have a smooth finish or not? The more definitive your _visualisation_ , the better the result." She gave him an encouraging smile. "Once you're confident on what you want to create, _feel_ it with your magic and then concentrate, and _pull_ it into existence."

Harry nodded and within a few moments, a picture had formed in his mind of the plain block he wanted to conjure. Pointing his wand down at the sheet on the floor, he closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses.

 _Almost…_

 _There!_

He could feel something, running above the skin on his wand hand – a faint prickling sensation, so small that if he weren't looking for it, he doubted that he would've noticed. Taking a deep breath, he focused on the feeling, the sensation growing a little with each second.

"Good," McGonagall encouraged from somewhere off to the side. "Now remember, concentrate. Use your wand to direct that feeling – your magic – into becoming what you want."

Harry pointed his wand as the sensation intensified, pins and needles running all over his hand, building towards a crescendo. Just as the discomfort approached pain, he twirled his wand in a small circle, and with an almost inaudible _pop_ , a block appeared in the centre of the sheet, out of thin air.

Surprise and elation thrummed through his mind for a moment as he stared at it, thoroughly pleased that he'd managed it so quickly – in the original timeline, his knowledge of Conjuration was sparse, to say the least, despite his grounding in its theory from fifth year.

McGonagall appeared equally impressed, her eyes wide behind her spectacles. " _Well done_ , Harry," she congratulated, the somewhat stiff formality of her earlier interactions falling away almost instantly as a small smile spread onto her face.

Harry grimaced and wiped some of the beading sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He hadn't realised how taxing Conjuration would be on his stamina, but then again, his body still wasn't accustomed to powerful magic, and it wouldn't be for some time yet.

McGonagall shot him a sympathetic look as she walked over to the cube and picked it up. "As you've no doubt realised, Conjuration, particularly at your age, will likely take a lot of energy to perform. I won't be asking you to do any more tonight, Harry, but you should be proud of yourself – even I wouldn't've expected anything close to this by our second session," she said cheerfully, Harry putting his wand back into his pocket a moment later. McGonagall held the cube up to her eyes, examining it thoroughly, running her fingers over its surface.

"Well, it certainly feels like wood," she mused, rapping her knuckles against it lightly with a soft _clack_. "There are still some improvements to be made, of course, but- oh!" she was cut off by the cube shaking suddenly in her hand and disappearing with a _pop_ , leaving nothing but empty space behind. Her hand fell back to her side as she looked over at Harry. "Well, as I said, even this result is _quite_ impressive. Take the rest of the evening off and recover your strength – Deputy Headmistress' orders," she added with small smile.

"Yes, Professor," Harry replied somewhat shakily as he turned to the door, remaining slightly lightheaded for some time after.

* * *

Sirius Black grimaced, his poorly-fitting boots crunching on some broken glass in the alleyway as he backed away from the advancing mugger, the hooded man's knife glinting slightly under the weak glow of the nearby streetlamps.

 _If only I had a bloody wand_ , Sirius thought furiously to himself, flexing his hands as he tried – with no success – to wandlessly stun the man bearing down on him.

He'd been walking carefully down the seemingly-deserted street, looking for somewhere he could scavenge some food, when the muggle had appeared out of the shadows, looking right at him, knife in hand. His first instinct was to Apparate to safety, but the moment he tried to concentrate on a destination, he realised it wouldn't work. Fatigue gripped his muscles and, considering his poor health and lack of a wand, he couldn't be sure he wouldn't splinch himself, which would've been a death sentence. His best option was to run, and he'd barely made it fifty paces before he was cornered.

"Give me everythin' you got, _now, or I'll cut you._ " The man's voice was a slurred hiss – clearly he'd been drinking. His mouth twisted into a smile that was all yellowed teeth as he took another step forwards.

Sirius abandoned the attempt to subdue the man magically, his hands grasping around behind him for something – _anything_ – that he could use to defend himself with. Suddenly, his foot caught on some of the rubbish strewn around in the dark, and the world tilted on its axis as he fell backwards, crashing to the ground in a heap. But he had no time to right himself, the mugger pressing his advantage on the downed wizard, forcing Sirius to scrabble away along the asphalt. Until his back hit something solid.

 _Fuck._

Unwilling to take his eyes off the mugger, he reached out blindly around him with his hands, trying to find a weapon in the piles of trash.

"You got nowhere to run," the man taunted, looming over Sirius.

"I... haven't got… anything…" Sirius pleaded, his voice hoarse and whispery from lack of use. His hands weren't getting purchase on anything, just brushing over useless trash.

 _No choice, gotta change._ Sirius took a shaky breath, trying to concentrate and ignore the thundering of adrenaline and fear through his body. If he couldn't transform, he'd be a dead man.

The mugger raised his leg, aiming to stamp down on Sirius' ankle, but even as the heel of his shoe came down towards Sirius' bony shin, the wizard's leg seemed to shrink away, the visible skin darkening under a blanket of thick hair and blending with the shadows, falling out of sight. The mugger's foot landed with an impotent _thump_ on the ground where Sirius' leg was, the man staring at the spot in muted shock. He was so shocked, in fact, that he almost forgot to look up.

When he did, expecting to still see the bedraggled wizard that he'd pursued, he instead found himself staring into the gleaming yellow eyes of something that wasn't even close to human. He could just about make out its profile in the darkness, and it was _massive_.

"Wha…" the man choked out, raising the knife shakily in front of him as the beast's lips pulled back, revealing a jaw filled with jagged fangs. When it growled, the sound was harsh, guttural, and utterly terrifying. The mugger managed a single step back before, with a bark that sounded closer to a roar, it pounced, its weight crashing against him and throwing him to the ground.

He turned the knife in his hand, trying to drive it into the animal's side when its head twisted, the jaws snapping forward onto his wrist and crushing it like a twig, the bones splintering with a series of loud _cracks_. The man cried out, dropping the knife as pain tore through his body. Unarmed, he frantically tried to scrabble out from under the beast's – a _dog_ , he noted somewhat absently – body, only to find that he couldn't lift its weight, leaving him trapped beneath it, and at its mercy.

Padfoot locked eyes with the muggle, snarling as blood-flecked drool dripped onto the man's chest, pausing in thought. Padfoot's instincts were to protect itself, pent-up aggression thundering under the surface. Deep inside, however, a battle raged between those very instincts and Sirius' panicked, pleading voice of reason.

He was a wanted man in the muggle world too, his picture plastered all over the news. He had no wand. He couldn't stun, incapacitate or wipe the man's memory with magic. Could he just knock the man unconscious?

 _Maybe._

The muggle _surely_ wouldn't report anything he'd seen to the authorities, not when he'd received his injuries trying to mug someone. Yet, Padfoot's instincts disagreed, and Sirius found himself arguing with a far more difficult impulse.

 _Can you take the chance? If you're wrong…_

Peter's face flashed through his mind, the mad gleam in the traitor's eye as he announced Sirius' betrayal to a crowded street. The wash of heat and deafening _bang_ of the explosion that tore apart the building nearby, that obscure moment of total serenity before the world caught up in a rush of noise and blood and chaos. The endless cold of Azkaban, clawing its way into his very bones to an orchestra of the prisoners' hysterical screaming.

 _Peter. The only thing that matters._

Inside, Padfoot roared in approval.

The man's whimpering pleas were cut abruptly short when the dog clamped its jaws around his neck, its jagged teeth shredding his flesh in a frenzy of biting and tearing, ripping the man's throat open to a wash of gore and hot blood. As the man choked and bled out onto the asphalt, Padfoot paused, staring silently down at him for a moment, before bounding over his crumpled form and darting out into the night.


	25. Necessary Evil, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone, I humbly present chapter twenty-five for your reading pleasure. Please remember to follow, favourite and review if that's your jam!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

The swift arrival of October was heralded by the climate around Hogwarts growing steadily colder, forcing students to don heavier cloaks and woolly hats as they hurried through the exposed courtyards. Accompanying the chill that ran through the castle came several outbreaks of coughs and colds, and Madam Pomfrey was hard-pressed to stay on top of things, handing out Pepperup Potions almost by the gallon.

Luckily for Professor Lupin, the turn of the full moon coincided nicely with the sicknesses sweeping the student population, and most of them simply assumed that he'd also fallen ill, explaining away the length of his absence by pointing out his shabby appearance and pale complexion, suggesting that he was more seriously affected than anyone else.

Of course, the Hogwarts gossip mill being what it was, by the end of the first day without Remus teaching classes many students were convinced that when he was last seen, the Defence Professor was pale as a ghost and coughing blood before apparently being rushed to St. Mungo's hospital for emergency care.

For the third-years, aside from the numerous discussions over how quickly the infamous curse on the Defence Against the Dark Arts position would 'finish off' Professor Lupin, most of the year group were quickly becoming excited at the prospect of the first Hogsmeade weekend at the end of the month.

Despite being weeks away, the steady rhythm of life in the castle was beginning to wear on many of them, and already groups of students were organising which shops they'd be visiting first, or cajoling each other to ask for dates to the Three Broomsticks. Even Ron and Hermione weren't immune to the current of infectious energy that swept through the student body – despite Harry perpetuating the lie that he'd been forbidden from attending – and more than once, Harry had found himself sitting idly whilst Ron wondered what kind of strange confectionery Honeydukes would be selling, or watching Hermione writing and rewriting shopping lists for new school supplies and books.

It was at times like this that the divide between him and the others felt that much larger, that much more isolating. A part of him wanted to be excited for his friends, to just return to the comforting, carefree embrace of being a teenager, but as much as he appeared to be one of them, he stood apart.

His peers didn't have such difficulty sleeping, or wake up sweating and shaking, flashes of eerily-glittering embers and Voldemort's cold red eyes running through their minds. Their lives hadn't been mangled and ruined by war, or devastated by loss. Sometimes, when he was still groggy from bed, he'd catch his reflection in the mirror, and for just a moment, he'd see _himself_ , older, gaunt and covered in scars. Then he'd blink, and find himself looking at the youthful visage he now wore like a mask, trying to ease the sharpness in his gaze that he'd had for so long it was almost natural, and replace it with teenage energy and curiosity.

In the corridors, the heaving crowds of students set him on edge, the press of bodies cutting off his lines of sight, sudden shouts of laughter or activity enough to have him reaching for his wand, only staved off by fiercely-asserted control.

He couldn't pinpoint when it had happened, only that somewhere, at some point years ago, he'd lost something, and he hadn't been able to see it until now, when he was faced so clearly with what came _before_ , forced to see memories in every room, every face. Despite how much he'd felt like an outsider in his time at Hogwarts, now it was only too clear that he didn't belong, that every time he saw the lightness and laughter in his friends' eyes he was watching something he shouldn't, something he didn't deserve to see.

Ron and Hermione had noticed the changes in his behaviour too – at times they'd make light of it, for instance his newfound studiousness was met with (mostly) mock-horror from Ron – but at others Harry would find the two engrossed in harshly-whispered conversations that would break off when he approached, or catch Hermione's concerned looks out of the corner of his eye.

* * *

It was a few days later that he found himself sat alone in the Common Room late at night, the warm fire _crackling_ quietly in front of him, breaking the empty silence of the deserted room. His extra lessons with McGonagall were a welcome distraction, forcing him both to learn and leaving him exhausted afterward. Their lesson earlier that evening carried on in the same vein as the last, with Harry summoning blocks of wood under McGonagall's critical eye, trying to get a feel for the mechanics of Conjuration and how to add texture and depth to his creations. It was slow going, but he'd found that being worn out from casting spells helped the onset of sleep – at least, it was supposed to.

Tonight, however, he was staring into the fire absently and quite awake, wondering if he should head up to the dormitory and try to sleep now, or just wait until he felt any signs of drowsiness. He was still mulling things over when he heard the gentle _pattering_ noise of bare feet on the stairs down from the dormitories.

His head was turning towards the staircase, when-

"H-Harry?" Ginny's voice quietly called out to him from across the room, her small figure casting a large shadow up the wall that danced slightly from the light of the fire.

"Oh – er – hi, Ginny," Harry replied hesitantly, surprised to see the second-year awake this late. A part of him was also relieved that he was seeing the _real_ one this time, rather than the – spectre? – that had visited him atop the Astronomy Tower.

"Do you m-mind if I join you?" she asked hesitantly, her hands fiddling with the fabric of her dressing gown.

"Sure," he replied quickly, gesturing to one of the empty armchairs before turning back to the fire. Ginny padded over quietly, her normally-loose red hair tied up in a messy bun behind her head. She settled into the armchair nearest to him, and stared resolutely into the flames, not making a sound. For a moment, the two sat, absorbed in their thoughts, before Harry broke the silence.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, one corner of his mouth pulling into a lopsided smile. Ginny glanced up at him and blushed slightly before gently shaking her head. "Me neither – too much going on up here," he replied, tapping his head with a finger.

Ginny smiled a shy smile, her eyes flicking back to the fire a moment later. She took an almost inaudible breath before she spoke. "Bad dreams," she mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

"Ah," Harry answered, "I know that feeling, believe me," he chuckled a little, but didn't elaborate. "You wanna talk about it?"

She shook her head again. Harry hummed his assent, the two falling back into silence, although it was slightly lighter and less awkward now than it was before. The fire was slowly burning lower and lower, their shadows standing wider and taller with each passing minute. Before the Common Room got too dark, Harry threw some more cut logs into the fire from the nearby pile – which were immediately replaced out of thin air with a _pop_ – and stoked the flames, a rush of glowing embers flitting merrily into the air as he did so. He settled back into the sofa with a sigh, letting the fresh warmth of the reinvigorated fire wash over him.

Reaching into his bag by his feet, he pulled out a thick, leather-bound book on Conjuration that Professor McGonagall had recommended to him, flipped it open and started to read, the weathered pages bathed in the orange glow of the flames. He was only finishing the introduction when Ginny broke the silence.

"Harry?" she called out softly.

"Hmm?" he replied, lifting his gaze from his book. Green eyes met brown for a moment before the latter blinked and looked away, back to the fire. Ginny's brow was furrowed slightly with determination, and after taking a shaky breath, she spoke again, her voice stronger than before.

"I… I never thanked you," she said, her eyes flicking down to her hands, which were nervously wringing each other in her lap.

"For what?" Harry asked confusedly.

"For t-the Chamber. For what you did for m-me." The last part was quiet and unsure, but she let out a long breath all the same, tension falling away from her shoulders.

 _Oh._

For a few seconds, Harry was stunned into silence. Whatever he'd been expecting her to say, it wasn't that. Surprisingly, a reply came to him quickly, and he knew just what to say. Closing his book with a soft _thump_ , he leaned forward and stared at the girl in the armchair.

"Ginny, look at me," he said firmly, but kindly. Slowly, she turned away from the fire, an anxious and somewhat fearful expression on her face. Before he knew it, his lips had spread into a small, reassuring smile. "You don't _ever_ have to thank me, okay?" he stated determinedly, his eyes searching hers, imploring her to understand.

"I never would've left you down there. Never."

A blush bloomed on her cheeks and her gaze broke away from his, ducking her head down to stare fixedly at her lap. She abruptly stood a few seconds later, unable to hide the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. As she walked back to the staircase to the dormitories, her voice was so quiet that Harry almost didn't hear her reply.

"Thank you."

She was gone a moment later, her shadow vanishing quickly up the stairs after she'd passed out of sight, leaving Harry alone once again, staring pensively into the fire.

When he finally returned to the dormitory, sleep came easily for him, and for once his dreams were entirely undisturbed, filled with sights of a familiar face.

* * *

Harry's good spirits lasted for a few days before he was roughly returned to the realities of his situation, starting with the arrival of the morning's _Daily Prophet_ , the front page covered by a single, damning headline:

 ** _SIRIUS BLACK SIGHTED_**

Ignoring the shocked exclamations and hushed discussions from the rest of the students, he practically tore the newspaper apart in his haste to read, only mildly assuaged that Sirius obviously hadn't been captured, otherwise the headline wouldn't have read 'sighted'. The article itself wasn't as strongly-worded as he'd expected, the Minister's Office having clearly had a hand in leaning on the _Prophet's_ editors to prevent excessive fearmongering. Furthermore, statements from Rufus Scrimgeour – the Head of the Auror Office – indicated that the trail was cold by the time that Ministry personnel had arrived on the scene.

The sighting was reported in a small village a few miles north of the Scottish border, meaning that Sirius was closing on Hogwarts. He'd likely be at Hogsmeade within a fortnight. The deep well of anxiety about his Godfather that he'd managed to bury over the last few days sprung forth again, stealing away Harry's appetite and leaving a bad taste in the back of his throat.

Sirius would soon be entering the dragon's maw. Dementors roamed Hogsmeade and the surrounding valley; The Aurors were likely close at hand in case of an emergency at the castle; Every witch and wizard in the country knew his face. If anything went wrong, it was all over.

Harry made a silent prayer to whatever deities he could remember, to see Sirius safely to the castle grounds, or wherever else he'd make his hideaway.

Glancing up from the _Prophet_ , he looked across the table to Ron and Hermione. The former looked afraid, whilst the latter looked more confused and worried than anything else. As if sensing his attention, Hermione looked up from her own copy and locked eyes with him, tugging on Ron's sleeve to get his attention.

"We need to talk," she hissed quietly, the two boys nodding sharply in response. After a few quiet minutes eating the last of their breakfast, the three of them stood and headed out of the Great Hall, ducking into an empty classroom on the First Floor. Harry – who entered last – discreetly cast a Silencing Charm on the door as he closed it behind him, just in case.

"This is about Black, isn't it?" Ron asked quickly, his gaze darting between the other two, Hermione nodding her assent.

"When you told me about what the Minister said, and when we learned about what Black had done, I'd hoped that you were wrong about him coming after you, that he'd just leave the country and that would be that. I really did," Hermione said in a small voice, a deeply worried expression on her face as she looked at Harry. "But I think we can all agree that there's no chance of that now. He's coming _here_ , it's the only place he could be going heading this far north."

"You think he's gonna try and get into the castle?" Ron interjected nervously, his eyes wide and fearful.

 _Yes._

"I don't know," Hermione replied worriedly. "But we need to be very careful. Particularly you, Harry," she said, her tone turning imploring as she continued. "I can't imagine what you might be feeling about Black, but please, I want you to promise me that you won't do anything rash, alright?" she asked, staring unblinkingly into his eyes. "He's just too dangerous. Promise me, Harry."

"I promise," Harry replied, noting the quiet breath Hermione let out upon hearing his agreement. He knew that they were only trying to keep him safe, and since he already knew of Sirius' innocence, there'd be no group confrontation like the one in the Shrieking Shack all those years ago. The time to make contact with his godfather was fast approaching, and he'd be doing it alone.

"Besides," he added with a small smile, "I promised Mr. Weasley I wouldn't go looking for Black, and I reckon your mum would never forgive me if I got myself hurt."

Ron chuckled lightly. "Too right, mate."

As the three headed up to Gryffindor Tower to collect their things, however, the smile fell away from Harry's face, a sick feeling pooling in his stomach. Trelawney's panicked accusations from the first Divination lesson ran through his head again, the way her normally ethereal voice turned sharp and frantic.

 _"Snakes… the symbol of lies… they surround you!"_

The image of his friends' faces, of Mr. Weasley's determined gaze forced their way into his mind. He'd promised them, _all_ of them, that he wouldn't go looking for Sirius, and yet that was _exactly_ what he was going to do, at the first possible opportunity. Sirius wanted to kill Pettigrew almost as much as he did, but he knew that he couldn't let that happen. The only way Sirius would be given a chance at exoneration would be with a living Pettigrew in tow, and the only way that he could control the situation would be to get Sirius on board.

Yet, for all that he told himself that it was necessary to keep his friends out of the way, he didn't want to think about what could happen when Ron and Hermione realised he'd gone back on his word, even if Sirius' innocence was revealed.

 _They'll get over it, or they won't. It doesn't matter. Sirius –_ _ **the mission**_ _– are the only things that are important_ , a harsh voice whispered in the back of his mind.

 _It's already happening, isn't it?_ Another interjected, sounding defeated. _Like_ _ **she**_ _said. We're using them. We needed camouflage, a disguise. So, we took our doppelgänger's place, wearing his robes like Snape wore a mask of carved silver, only to throw our friends to the side when they're no longer useful._

 _It's for their own safety. This is too crucial to fuck up, and they're a liability._

 _They weren't last time, though, were they?_

 _Last time, they died._

 _Then protect them better!_ The voice insisted angrily. _Bring them into the fold, teach them to protect themselves._

 _They won't understand. How can they? After everything I've done to get here? I'm safer working on this alone, and so are they. It's for the greater good._

 _Whose greater good?_

The question ran unanswered, leaving only uncertainty and simmering anger in its wake.


	26. Necessary Evil, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hello again everyone, here's chapter twenty-six for you all! A big (and heartfelt) thankyou to all of you readers, as well as any who follow/favourite/review - it's still staggering how much support I've gotten for this, particularly considering it's my first work, so thank you!**

 **About the update schedule for the future - for the early parts of this story I was updating close to twice a month, but it's increasingly likely that I can't keep that up any more. I'll be aiming for roughly once a month, and I apologise if that is too slow for some of you, but I work on this as a hobby and at my own pace, and when I hit difficulty I prefer to take a step back and rethink my approach rather than force out some garbage I'll be changing anyway. This chapter was difficult, but it's twenty-seven that's been a beast for me, you'll see why by the end of this one!**

 **Thanks again for all the support, and remember to follow/favourite/review if you're enjoying it!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"Good, Potter," Professor McGonagall remarked as she examined yet another cube of wood Harry had conjured for flaws. Their lessons had continued well, although they hadn't yet moved further than conjuring basic, uniform blocks, trying to improve the speed at which he could perform Conjuration and how long his constructs lasted. This one lasted nearly a full minute before it disappeared into thin air – a small, but definite improvement since their last session.

Harry's wand arm shook slightly, fatigue pulling heavily at his muscles. At McGonagall's gesture, the two returned to their seats, where she considered him from across her desk.

"You're progressing well," she remarked as she tapped the teapot on her desk with her wand, the tea inside beginning to boil in a matter of seconds. "Soon, we'll be able to move on to the process of shaping conjured objects. Do you have any questions so far?" McGonagall asked as she poured two cups of tea.

 _Now's the time._

Accepting the cup the professor held out in a wrinkled hand with murmured thanks, Harry took a sip and gently placed it down, looking McGonagall in the eye.

"I did have a question, but it's not related to our sessions."

"Oh?" McGonagall responded with a raised eyebrow. "Well, out with it, then."

"What can you tell me about Sirius Black?" Harry asked directly, a part of him enjoying the blank look of shock that gripped McGonagall's features.

"Why would you ask me that?" she replied, her eyebrows narrowing dangerously, although her eyes were guarded.

"It's alright, Professor," Harry said, "I know that he's coming after me. I just wanted to know about him – his relationship to my parents, who he was… before everything."

Once again McGonagall's expression slackened with surprise, but after a few seconds of silence the moment passed and the elderly witch seemed to crumple in her seat, looking older and wearer than Harry had ever seen her. When she spoke, her voice was quiet – and to Harry's shock – sorrowful.

"You know, I'm ashamed to admit that a part of me hoped you'd never make the connection," she said with a brief, humourless smile. "But then again, you've always been more perceptive than people expect." She sighed loudly, removing her spectacles and cleaning them with a fold of her robes. "I'm… sorry, Harry, that for another year your safety is once more at risk."

Harry was stunned by McGonagall's admission, caught entirely by surprise by the witch's sincerity. While he floundered, thinking of something to say, McGonagall pressed on.

"This is likely to be a long conversation, and there are things you might not be ready to hear," she explained gently, her eyes not leaving his. "Are you sure that you want to know?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Very well," she said in a tone of finality, standing abruptly from her chair and marching over to the fireplace. "But if you're going to get the full account, then another will need to join us." Taking a pinch of Floo Powder from a pot on the mantelpiece, she tossed it into the flames, which immediately crackled and grew, turning a bright acid green in a wash of heat.

Crouching down before the now-roaring fire, McGonagall stuck her head in the flames and called out loudly.

"Remus Lupin's Office!"

Harry bit back a curse. He hadn't expected that McGonagall would bring Remus in, but there was no way he could back out now. He'd just have to be careful.

He couldn't hear the Werewolf's side of the conversation, but McGonagall's voice came out clearly through the flames.

"Remus, if you aren't preoccupied this evening, could you come to my office? There's a matter in which I need your input." When she withdrew her head a moment later, Harry assumed that she'd received agreement from the Defence Professor.

Standing now, McGonagall walked back behind her desk, before opening a drawer and rummaging around. Harry's curiosity at what she could be looking for vanished when he heard the tell-tale _clink_ of glassware. Sure enough, a moment later the witch withdrew an ornate crystal decanter half-filled with amber liquid – _Firewhisky?_ Harry thought – as well as two glass tumblers.

"I'm afraid you'll have to stick with tea, Harry, as this particular beverage isn't fit for third-years," McGonagall said with a slight smile as she poured a small measure of spirit into each glass, although her expression tightened shortly afterwards. "It would be best that we wait for Professor Lupin to join us before we continue, although I'm sure he won't be long," she added, turning around to stare out of the window over the darkened grounds. Barely a couple of minutes later the silence of the office was broken by a gentle knock at the door, which was then swiftly opened as Remus entered the room, turning around to close it behind him.

"Sorry for the delay, Minerva, I-" he paused suddenly as he noticed that McGonagall wasn't alone, his eyebrows rising in surprise at seeing Harry present as well.

"Evening, Professor," Harry greeted evenly, taking a sip from his tea.

"Not to worry," McGonagall said, waving away Remus' apology. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to an empty chair that was placed against the wall, Remus sending it drifting gently through the air over to the desk with a flick of his wand. As McGonagall returned to her seat, she passed him the second glass, which he took in a scarred hand and studied for a second, a flicker of confusion on his face.

McGonagall seemed to read his reaction, however, and quickly explained. "Harry here" – she gestured to him across the desk – "has asked me – _well, us_ – to tell him about Sirius Black."

Remus almost dropped his glass in surprise, his eyes darting over to Harry, studying him carefully.

"I'm sorry for having to ask you to join us, Remus," McGonagall added sadly, "but I felt it was important that Harry get your account as well."

"…that's alright, Minerva," Lupin replied gently as his posture relaxed slightly. "I was just surprised, that's all." McGonagall nodded.

"Now then, Harry – I suppose it's best that we start at the beginning…"

* * *

Harry wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it had been at least an hour – maybe two – and it was surely nearing curfew. McGonagall and Lupin had constructed as complete a picture of Sirius as he'd expected, running from how Remus met him and James Potter on the Hogwarts Express to an abridged version of their friendship, to speculation on how long Sirius had served Voldemort, and the events of the night of Halloween 1981.

It was as they neared the end of their tale, however, that the already subdued mood of the two professors worsened. Remus was holding himself together well, but Harry could tell that recounting so many painful memories was causing the Werewolf grief. McGonagall's lips were drawn into a thin line as she stared into the small pool of Firewhisky left in her glass, absorbed for a moment by her thoughts. Harry sat quietly watching, the dregs of the tea in his cup long since cold and undrinkable.

"There's… something else, Harry," she half-whispered, her voice still ringing loudly in the silence that fell over the room's other occupants.

"What do you mean?" he replied, careful to inject some anxiousness into his tone.

McGonagall glanced at Remus for a split second before she rallied herself and continued. "Sirius Black remains – to this very day – your godfather."

 _Huh. I didn't think she'd actually do it._

"Why wasn't I told before?" he asked softly, watching McGonagall wince slightly at the bluntness of his tone.

"We – that is, Headmaster Dumbledore, myself and the other professors who knew," – she shot a quick glance to Remus – "agreed to keep it a secret. It was our belief that telling you would only bring you distress."

Harry nodded. "I think I understand, Professor, but I would prefer to have known," he responded coolly. "I had a _right_ to know."

"Yes, you did," Remus supplied, speaking up for the first time in a few minutes. "But I would encourage you to ask yourself, how would you have taken this information, whenever it would have been revealed to you? Do you think that you would've been ready to hear this at eleven? Twelve?" He paused, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand before meeting Harry's gaze. "You have every right to be upset, Harry," he said gently, "but no matter what, I urge you to try and keep it in perspective, alright?"

"I guess you have a point, Professor," Harry said with a quiet sigh. "I'm sorry, it's quite late – I think I ought to be getting back to my dormitory."

McGonagall hummed her assent, looking at him sadly. "Goodnight, Harry."

He stood, striding determinedly towards the door, before pausing and turning slightly, looking over his shoulder at the two professors.

"I wish I'd been told before now, Professor," he said. "Before Black escaped Azkaban."

"How so?"

"I would've liked to look into his eyes, and ask him _why_."

He strode out, silence following in his wake.

* * *

Harry grinned as he caught the movement of the incoming Bludger, leaning flat against the Nimbus and dropping sharply towards the pitch floor, the cold air howling in his ears as the iron ball shot through the blank space he'd just vacated, levelling out his broom barely a few feet from the glistening, dew-covered grass. Above his head, the Gryffindor Chasers darted and weaved, passing the Quaffle rapidly between them almost continuously as they advanced on Wood's goalposts.

 _THWACK!_

The sound of one of the Weasley twins' bats cracked out across the pitch like a gunshot, the absence of a cheering crowd making it easy to follow the sounds of the practice game. Pulling hard on the Nimbus, Harry rocketed up into the air in a near-vertical climb, the pitch spreading out beneath him as he rose higher into the air. He spotted one of the Weasleys shooting him a thumbs-up as they turned and began flanking the Chasers, forcing them to abandon their straight rush to the goalposts to outmanoeuvre the Bludgers the two sent hurtling into the fray.

Taking a minute to get his breath, Harry slowly circled the players from above in a searching drill, although the Snitch wasn't in the air today for him to catch. Instead, Wood wanted to focus on the rest of the team, so aside from occasionally jumping in to help the Chasers – which wasn't technically illegal, although in a real game it would prevent him from searching for the Snitch – he was mostly just watching, or practicing his dodging with Fred and George.

It had been a few days since his conversation with Remus and McGonagall, and to their credit the two professors' behaviour towards him had barely changed, if at all, in the aftermath of the truth of Sirius' relation to him. The real change was in Hermione – who, when he'd told her and Ron about Sirius – was terrified that he'd be angry enough to do something dangerous. He'd smiled to himself later, as her worry was, if his behaviour in the original timeline was to be believed, very well-founded. As it was, though, he'd put on a small show of feeling betrayed for not being told by anyone, but had once again brought up the subject of Sirius' guilt. With so many seemingly unanswered questions – the absence of evidence of any trial, the closeness of Sirius as a friend to the Potters and his godfather's seemingly illogical actions coming north after his escape – Hermione particularly was beginning to share at least a portion of Harry's outward scepticism.

He was hoping that neither Ron or Hermione would end up involved, and if his plan went ahead successfully, they wouldn't, but he needed contingencies. He needed to be able to convince them of Sirius' innocence quickly in the event of any confrontation.

Snapping back to the present, he returned his attention to Quidditch practice, letting the chilly morning breeze blow past him as he tried to follow the movement of the Quaffle between the players down below.

When he saw Katie Bell throw her left hand out – palm open and pointed up, a signal he'd agreed on with the Chasers a few weeks ago – he pointed the Nimbus down and dived towards the group. As he dropped, Katie tossed the Quaffle straight up and swiftly moved, the leather ball flying neatly into his outstretched hand as he continued downwards, through the group of Chasers and out along the pitch floor, the other three weaving above him to prevent Fred and George taking a clear shot.

Within a few seconds they came up on the goalposts, where Harry shouted to Alicia Spinnet, launching the Quaffle up and to his left. Wood spotted the pass as it happened, and moved to block Alicia's shot on the closest two hoops as she entered the scoring area, when – just as she caught the Quaffle – she turned sharply and threw it off to the corner hoop, the ball sailing right the centre of the ring.

The Chasers whooped loudly, making Harry grin. As Wood cast a Summoning Charm on the Quaffle and the twins wrestled the Bludgers into submission, even Harry could see the satisfied smile on the Captain's face. Since the end of September the team had improved noticeably, to the point that the try-outs they conducted the previous week were nothing more than a formality, none of the new candidates measuring up to Wood's expectations.

With a gesture from Wood, the team flew lazily down to the pitch, dismounting and heading to the changing rooms to clean up. With only a few weeks to go until the first match of the year against Slytherin, Wood was cautiously optimistic at Gryffindor's chances, although his training regimen hadn't let up at all.

A few minutes later he was heading up to the castle alone. He'd taken a more circuitous route back, enjoying the morning air, when he spotted Malfoy and his gang of cronies hanging about outside the Entrance Hall doors, chatting. Before he had a chance to get out of sight, Malfoy's eyes flicked over to him, the latter's mouth twisting with cruel glee.

"And where d'you think you're going so quickly, Scarhead?" Malfoy asked as he and the other Slytherins hurriedly walked into Harry's path, spreading out around him in a semicircle.

Harry looked blandly into Malfoy's grey eyes. "Do you want something, Malfoy?" he replied flatly, his voice laced with indifference.

Malfoy didn't bother to respond, instead looking to his cronies – Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson and another girl Harry didn't know – whilst flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his robes. "You know, I think Potter here's been getting a bit big for his boots lately," he mused loudly, a superior smirk on his face. "I think we – upstanding students like ourselves – have a duty to _do_ something about it, don't you?"

The others nodded, and Parkinson giggled sycophantically. Harry shifted his hand, feeling the reassuring weight of his wand in his sleeve, ready to drop into his palm at a moment's notice.

"You've been strutting around school since term started," Malfoy sneered, his aristocratic features marred by the ugly expression on his face, "acting like you're superior to us, your _betters_." The last word was spat out angrily, and Harry could see the blonde's pale cheeks colouring slightly. "It's about time that we taught you some _respect_."

Harry gave an exaggerated sigh of boredom. "I have plenty of respect, Draco," he said matter-of-factly, flicking his eyes over the group, trying to read their body language. "Just not for scum like _you_."

 _Crabbe'll cast first, and Goyle will follow. Something simple. They think their numbers give them an advantage. Pansy won't get involved immediately, hopefully her friend'll show some restraint. Malfoy wants to do any real damage himself. Bastard._

Malfoy flushed with anger, his hand darting into his pocket even as Crabbe and Goyle whipped out their own wands, the former letting loose a Leg-Locker Curse a second later. Harry let his wand drop into his hand, and brought it about quickly, a Shield Charm springing up around him, the spell crashing harmlessly off its surface with a loud _bang_. Pivoting on his foot, he cast a silent Disarming Charm on Goyle before the oaf had even finished pronouncing the Body-Bind Curse, his wand shooting out of his hand.

" ** _Diffindo!_** " Malfoy yelled, a bolt of whitish-purple light shooting across the courtyard towards him, coming too fast, too quickly, there was no time to-

He cried out as a flash of white-hot pain shot through his left shoulder, the dissipating spell followed by a small spray of blood.

A memory flashed through Harry's mind – the tent in the wilderness, Ron, Hermione. Pain, and the indescribable, surreal sensation of watching piece of your own body be torn away. Green lights, shouting, _death_.

He saw red.

Adrenaline thundered through Harry's body as his senses screamed out in alarm. He didn't even register the look of shock and surprise on Malfoy's face at seeing the spell hit its mark and draw blood. Acting on instinct, he dropped Crabbe with a Stunning Spell, before throwing Parkinson across the courtyard with a Banishing Charm. Goyle and the other girl were already running for the castle doors, yelling.

With a snarl, he lunged at Malfoy, the blonde panicking and stuttering his way through a hex up until the moment Harry's fist smacked into his face, breaking his nose with a _crunch_.

Screeching with pain, Malfoy fell to the floor, his wand clattering out of sight as blood poured over his cheeks and into his hair. Harry leapt on top of him, raining down blows on the blonde's face and neck, knocking aside Malfoy's hands as he tried feebly to defend himself.

His pulse thundered in his ears, the _thumping_ of his fists beating against Malfoy's face sounding muffled and far away. Someone shouted from the Entrance Hall doorway, but he didn't care.

Suddenly, everything tilted on its axis as he felt a spell pull him off Malfoy and send him crashing a few feet to the side, landing painfully on the hard cobblestones of the courtyard, his wand shooting out of his hand. His eyes snapping up to meet the new threat, Harry found himself looking at the paling, horrified expression of Remus Lupin.


	27. A Hard Truth, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hey, gang. Been a while, I know - job hunting for something that isn't retail when you've got minimal experience and specialised skills is a bitch. In other news, water is wet, and here's a new chapter for you all! Please remember to follow, favourite and review, and enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

The next few minutes passed in a disoriented blur for Harry. His anger vanished almost as soon as the fight had ended, awareness returning to him as if he were breaking the surface of water, coming up for air in a rush of sensory input and noise. In its place, a sick, heavy feeling settled in his gut like a lead weight as Lupin hauled him to his feet, the Werewolf's hazel eyes filled with a grim disbelief.

He numbly registered the presence of the other students as Remus marched him inside, the crowd assembled in the Entrance Hall nearly stumbling over each other to clear a path. Behind him, some of the Prefects levitated Malfoy, Crabbe and Parkinson in a strange procession, breaking off from Harry and Remus to head up to the Hospital Wing once the group reached the Grand Staircase.

He wondered if Ron and Hermione had seen him, although he supposed it didn't matter now.

It was once he'd reached McGonagall's Office, when he'd been sitting silently whilst Professor Lupin described what he'd seen to a rapidly-colouring McGonagall, that his thoughts returned the fight in the courtyard.

 _What have you done?_ The question ran echoing, unanswered, through his mind.

" _Look at me, Potter!_ " McGonagall barked, her eyes flashing with barely-restrained fury.

Snapping back to attention, he looked up the professor, but stayed silent. Remus waited in the wings, his face carefully blank, but his eyes kept flicking between the room's other occupants.

"What in _Merlin's name_ came over you?" she asked incredulously. "You put three – _three_ – students in the Hospital Wing!" She took a shuddering breath, her hand gripping the back of her chair tightly whilst her other rose in a halting gesture. "No, Potter, I'm not interested in hearing any excuses. _Nothing_ gives you the right to exercise such violence.

"I can't even begin to tell you how disappointed I am," she said gravely. "As much as it pains me to do so, I'll be taking fifty points from Gryffindor, and as I'm already busy enough _without_ having to deal with you, you'll serve detentions twice every week with Professor Lupin from now until Halloween." She glared at him, almost daring him to object.

 _Fuck._

"So help me, if the idea of breaking a single rule so much as _crosses your mind_ for the next month, I'll take you off the Quidditch Team too," McGonagall warned. "You should consider yourself _extremely_ lucky that it was Professor Lupin who broke up that fight, and not Professor Snape, for he would be far less lenient than I am. Now go to the Hospital Wing and get that arm seen to," she ordered, her voice a fraction less biting than before.

"Yes, Professor," Harry said quietly as he stood and walked out, taking his wand from Remus' outstretched hand and feeling their stares on his back until he turned out of sight.

He'd hurried through the empty corridor and ducked into the first bathroom he could see, momentarily terrified that there'd be someone inside – he doubted any student would react well to seeing him washing blood off his hands in broad daylight. Thankfully, it was empty, and he rushed to the nearest sink, smearing blood – _Malfoy's blood_ – over the tap as he fumbled to turn the handle. Once the water was flowing, he thrust his hands under the stream, grabbing a block of soap and starting to scrub, the blood running lazily, swirling in winding crimson tendrils towards the plughole.

A part of him registered that he could just as easily clean off the blood with a quick **_Tergeo_** or **_Scourgify_** , but even as he considered doing so it felt wrong, somehow. Cheap.

Malfoy's shocked expression as his spell hit home flashed through Harry's mind for a moment, and he stopped, letting the soap drop into the sink with a _clunk_ , looking up into the mirror and staring himself in the eyes.

 _What have you done?_

 _He attacked me._

 _He's a_ _ **child**_ _._

 _He attacked me. He drew blood. I had to react._

 _And you did. You, with years of training and experience fighting grown wizards fought off a thirteen-year-old and his goons without even trying. With a few basic spells, you did more damage to them than they did to you._

 _I incapacitated them. I took them out of the fight safely._

 _And Malfoy? That was just expediency, was it, when you were busy trying to smash his face in? You saw his face, he's a coward, all bark and no bite. You could've taken that hit, and kept your eye on the big picture._

Harry's hands gripped the edges of the sink tightly, his knuckles standing out a sharp white against his skin.

 _Shut up._

 _You're losing perspective. You cast a Banishing Charm on Parkinson. Don't you remember Bellatrix?_

 _Of course I remember!_

 _Then you'll also remember that even basic magic can kill if you aren't careful._

 _Parkinson'll be fine._

 _Maybe so, but were you sure of that when you cast the spell? Did it even cross your mind? Were you controlling the angle, the velocity, to make sure she wouldn't crack her fucking skull open? Or were you just running on automatic, the way we learned to fight_ _ **Death Eaters**_ _– shoot first, think later?_

 _Shut_ _ **up**_ _._

Harry bared his teeth at his reflection in a snarl. The way that it mirrored him seemed… _mocking_ , somehow.

 _You could've killed someone today. You could've killed all of them._

"I _know!_ " Harry shouted out suddenly, the sound echoing impotently through the deserted bathroom.

 _So_ _ **why**_ _did it get that far? Were you just itching to give Draco a smack, is that it? To wipe that stupid smirk off his face?_

 _You know that's not true._

 _And yet you saw fit to try and, what, beat him into unconsciousness?_

 _I…_

 ** _You're jeopardising the mission._**

Harry sighed, taking a deep, slow breath as he turned his attention back to his hands, letting the sound of running water calm him down as he focused on it, drawing his thoughts back to the present. His arm throbbed, the shoulder of his robes damp with blood.

 _Could heal it myself, but… no,_ he though as he shook his head. _Gotta get to Pomfrey, try and salvage this mess._

Turning off the tap and drying his hands on one of the fresh towels left out by the House-Elves, he headed up to the Hospital Wing, ignoring the stares and harsh muttering that followed him when he passed other students in the corridors. Despite his calm exterior, their attentions were making him feel exposed. _Vulnerable_.

In one insane, frenzied instant, everything had just changed. The pretence of being the same Harry Potter everyone knew was over, thanks to his stupidity.

On his eventual arrival in the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey healed him up almost immediately, but not without shooting a few wary looks over to Malfoy's bed, where the Slytherin lay – thankfully – asleep, his face covered in ugly marks and rapidly-swelling bruises that distorted his features.

When he saw Malfoy's condition, a horrid, cold feeling rose in Harry's gut like bile, his heart hammering faint and flightily in his ears. He fled half-running as soon as the matron sent him away, the errant thought that he should head to breakfast serving only to make him feel nauseated. Instead he returned to Gryffindor Tower, pulling out the Invisibility Cloak from his trunk and throwing it over himself before sitting in the silence of the deserted dormitory, Malfoy's shocked expression playing over and over in his mind like a stuck record.

* * *

 _Harry came to abruptly with a gasping, shuddering breath, his eyes streaming as he tried to stop the spasms running through his chest. The left side of his face and neck were awash with pain. Gritting his teeth to avoid crying out, he squinted, his left eye pinched tightly shut thanks to the burns, and tried to get his bearings._

 _Ah, yes, he remembered now. Greengrass Manor. Prisoner escape. An explosion. Light, heat, then a boom that made his teeth rattle. The whole room collapsing around him._

 _His right ear was still ringing from the explosion. In his left he could hear nothing. He could feel a warm trickle of blood running out of it._

 ** _Eardrum must've burst. Fuck._**

 _He couldn't see a thing, there was too much smoke, too much dust in the air. He tried to move, but the rubble had him pinned. That last-minute_ _ **Protego**_ _had probably saved his life, he realised, as he flexed his left hand._

 ** _Where's my wand?_**

 _He reached out, feeling for it with his fingers._

 ** _WHERE IS IT?_**

 _His heart leaped in his chest, hammering hard as he fought off panic. If he didn't have his wand, he'd be dead inside five minutes._

 _Suddenly, he felt the edge of its handle, just in reach. The few seconds of desperate scrabbling with the tips of his fingers to pull it into his palm felt far too long, but the moment he grasped his hand tightly around his wand, relief crashed over him. Taking a moment to get his breath, and trying not to choke as the bitter air burned his throat, he pointed the wand inwards, against the rubble pressing against his chest._

 _"_ _ **Reducto!**_ _" he hissed, some of the rubble blasting apart into a fine powder, the weight on his body lessening suddenly, letting him suck in a deep, desperate breath. He tried to move, but he was still pinned down. After a few repeats, where every spell, every tumbling_ _ **clack**_ _of stone-on-stone nearly made his heart stop, he shifted his now-freed legs and kicked off the last of the debris. With a grunt, he rolled over and pushed himself unsteadily to his feet._

 _Now that he was standing – albeit in a pain-filled stoop thanks to the smoke running along the ceiling and up through the jagged hole that used to be the room upstairs – he took stock of his surroundings, reaching out with his hearing to try and pick up any other movement._

 _The room – which he thought had been a large, elegantly-furnished drawing room of sorts – was utterly unrecognisable. He'd been running through it, covering-_

 _The bottom dropped out of Harry's stomach._

 _"Andromeda!" he hissed out quietly, searching for any signs of life in the mess of rubble and timber that filled the room._

 _The mission was simple, but messy. Voldemort's forces had hit Andromeda Tonks' house, abducting her and her daughter Nymphadora, and leaving her husband Ted's dismembered corpse in their wake. Sirius had rallied the resistance to mount a rescue and free them from where they were being held – Greengrass Manor, a large, opulent estate somewhere in Scotland – before they could be interrogated or killed. They'd gotten in quietly, thanks to Harry's cloak and Sirius' skill with a knife, but it had all gone to shit the moment they'd grabbed the two prisoners._

 _In the ensuing firefight the house had turned into a battleground. Sirius had tried to keep them on the move, using the many rooms to break lines of sight and confuse the Death Eaters, but they'd gotten split up – Harry with Andromeda, Sirius with Nymphadora._

 _"Andromeda!" he called out again, scrabbling over the debris to where he thought she was before the explosion to the room apart. Amidst all the dull stone and dust, he spotted a glint of polished metal and reached for it, grasping warm flesh._

 _He pulled, and the body shifted, the metal visible now – Andromeda's wedding ring – as well as the hand it was attached to. The hand was covered in blood, and limp._

 ** _No…_**

 _Harry felt for a pulse, closing his eyes in resignation at the stillness of her skin._

 ** _God damn it._**

 _He wasn't sure why, but he slipped the ring from her finger and dropped it into his pocket. Standing up, he looked to the nearest door, the smoke obscuring the rooms beyond. He needed to find Sirius and Nymphadora._

 _Suddenly, some rubble shifted somewhere behind him with a_ _ **clatter**_ _. Whirling about, he found himself staring down the wandpoint of a dishevelled, bleeding figure._

 _Draco Malfoy paused at the wand levelled at his face. He looked up, and saw – wearing an identical expression of shock – Harry Potter, staring back at him, the skin on half his face blistered and bleeding from a burn, looking like he'd just been dragged out of his own grave._

 ** _Why isn't he calling for help?_** _Harry thought, considering how he could incapacitate Malfoy before the latter could get a spell off against him, or alert whoever else was nearby to his presence. Malfoy's Death Eater robes were torn and covered in dust and grime, his silver mask nowhere to be seen. His normally neat blonde hair was a filthy mess, matted with blood and dirt._

 _The two stayed like that for a few moments, the sounds of muffled shouting and the_ _ **cracks**_ _of spellfire seemingly coming from all around them. They stood in tense, careful silence, Harry's one good eye fixed squarely on Draco's own fearful grey ones, each waiting for the other to make the first move._

 _Slowly, Draco lifted his free hand, his palm open. His wand arm lowered, Harry mirroring the action with his own. The blonde gave a jerk of his chin over Harry's shoulder to one of the doors leading out of the ruined room, an indecipherable look on his face._

 _"Go," he whispered hoarsely, the sound barely audible over the chaos echoing throughout the house. "Get out of here."_

 _Harry nodded shakily and stepped backwards carefully, not turning away from Malfoy until he rounded a corner and limped out of sight._

* * *

Harry raked a hand through his hair, grimacing at the memory.

 _He never did have it in him, even then, when there was everything to lose._

He thought back to the fight in the courtyard, and caught himself looking down at his hands. They were clean, but a part of him didn't feel it. He knew it now, that something had gone wrong with him, somewhere, in his head. Something had changed, leaving him angry and volatile, _violent_ , in its wake.

He was broken out of his thinking by a slight scuffling noise from Ron's bed, glimpsing a flash of grey fur and a pink tail as Scabbers ducked under the covers.

 _Don't think I haven't forgotten about you, Pettigrew. Sirius will get his justice._

The sighting of Wormtail wasn't an unusual occurrence – Ron had taken to keeping him in the dormitory as much as possible to avoid Crookshanks' ire – yet, seeing the rat sitting in the dormitory, utterly unaware of how close his judgement really was, reminded Harry of a sobering fact:

He still had a job to do.

His façade was over. He still wouldn't be coming clean, not until it was his last option, but there was no pretending he was the same as before. His lips pressed into a tight line. Who cares if the students ostracised him? It'd happened before anyway, plenty of times. He couldn't lie to himself, he loved Ron and Hermione, and Ginny, and all his friends, and – if it happened – the loss of their friendship would hurt.

But it was irrelevant.

No, the only thing that was important now, _the only thing that had ever mattered_ , was Pettigrew – the mission.

 _Time to get moving._

He grimaced as he stood, picking up his school things and heading back out of the dormitory.

 _What's that muggle saying? Out of the frying pan…_

Stares from the few Gryffindors in the Common Room followed him out, whispers springing up behind him as he emerged back onto the Grand Staircase.

 _…Into the fire._

* * *

Malfoy's absence from the first lesson of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was keenly felt, but despite the hateful glares of the remaining Slytherins and the occasional wary glance or tight smile from the rest of the students, no one approached him. To his surprise, even Ron and Hermione kept a small distance from him, although he could feel their eyes on him almost constantly.

After the incident that morning, it seemed that the whole school was treating him like a bomb that could go off at any minute. A snide voice in the back of his mind remarked that they weren't wrong.

Seeing the intense, worried look that Hermione was giving him as Hagrid was ending the lesson, Harry dawdled whilst the rest of the students swiftly headed back up to the castle. The others had barely passed out of sight when he felt a gentle hand on his arm, and looked up from packing his bag.

"Harry…" Hermione began, her eyes searching his. Ron stood a little to the side, clearly equally concerned but feeling awkward about showing it – him and Hermione had been arguing over Crookshanks' renewed attempts to kill Pettigrew in recent days, and perhaps wanted to avoid looking like he was mimicking the witch.

"I know," he said simply, taking a deep breath and breaking Hermione's gaze, looking into the rustling trees of the forest instead.

"What happened?" she asked, squeezing his arm gently.

Harry gave a humourless chuckle. "What do you think? _Malfoy_ happened," he replied with a grimace. "He, Crabbe, Goyle, Parkinson and some other girl I don't know cornered me. They drew their wands; were gonna fight me five-on-one."

Ron surprised them both with a sharp hiss of anger, his freckled cheeks flushing red. "That cowardly _git_ ," he seethed, his fists clenched tight.

Harry smiled grimly and turned, staring hard at Hermione. "If I hadn't defended myself I'm sure I'd be in the Hospital Wing instead of them right now," he said firmly, trying to keep the hint of desperation out of his tone.

 _Please, understand._

"What about after? I caught a glimpse before Professor Lupin broke it up," Hermione added softly.

Harry pulled a face, running a hand through his hair distractedly. "I… kind of lost it," he murmured, his voice bitter and ashamed. "It was like I wasn't in control of myself, you know?"

"I know how that feels, mate," Ron replied gently with a sympathetic look on his face. Hermione turned to him, her eyebrow raised. "What?" Ron shot back a little sharply, "I've got _five_ brothers, Hermione. A couple of times they've pushed me pretty far. I mean, I love them, they're family. But sometimes, I really hate them."

"Not like today, though," Harry interjected, to which Ron fell silent. "I…" he looked down at his palms, for a second seeing the fresh crimson streams of blood running over his skin, droplets falling lazily from his fingertips.

He shook his head, stuffing his hands roughly in his pockets. "Thanks, both of you. You're better friends than I deserve right now," he said so quietly he wasn't even sure they'd heard, the wind and crackling trees stealing the sound almost as soon as it left his mouth, before turning sharply and wandering back to the castle alone.


	28. A Hard Truth, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Hey, everyone, guess who managed to get employed (if only for a month's contract, but temp money is still money!).**

 **Seriously, though, wow - _I'll Keep Coming_ has crashed over the 100,000 word marker (including ANs), which is just insane! Also, we're up to 410 Followers, 210 Favourites and a whopping 194 Reviews, and over 79,000 Views. I didn't ever think that my work would be popular with so many of you, and I'm delighted by the support I've been shown on this website. Thanks (I know I say it a lot).**

 **Anyhow, here's chapter twenty-eight for you all to enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Put simply, Ginny Weasley wasn't having a great morning. After another night of poor sleep, chased awake by a blurry image of – _don't say his name!_ – familiar, intelligent dark eyes that turned cruel and cold as they stared so hard she felt like they could see through her, she'd still somehow managed to run late getting ready in the morning and had to skip breakfast entirely to make it to History of Magic on time. The seven-inch parchment on ancient conflicts with the Giants that she was supposed to be handing in that lesson was left forgotten, half-finished, on her bedside table as she hurried out for another day of school.

Cue an _extremely_ unpleasant, hunger-pain-filled hour-and-a-half trying not to let Binns' droning send her back off to sleep, and fifteen docked house points at the end for failing to turn in the essay, which she'd have to hand in next lesson _as well as_ the one Binns foisted on everyone today.

But by that time, Ginny could've lost fifty house points from Binns and she wouldn't have even noticed. Something bad had happened earlier that morning, and she'd been piecing together the details from the snippets of conversation and frantic whispering that rushed across the second-year class like Chasers trading possession of the Quaffle. Something bad had happened, and Harry was involved, and she was worried, or confused, or just tired and hungry, or _all of them at once_.

 _Harry._

She still found it difficult to talk to the green-eyed third-year, although _that conversation_ that they'd shared over a week before had been the most words the two had traded since – _don't think of that!_ She shook her head slightly in reflex – and it was strangely freeing to realise that she could, in fact, spend longer than thirty seconds in his presence without doing something embarrassing and wishing more than anything that she could spontaneously transform into a piece of furniture.

But at the same time, she was finding it difficult to reconcile all the different sides of Harry – and he had _many_ sides, many layers, for sure – in her mind. There was the quiet, earnest boy she first saw at the train station two years ago, wearing shabby clothes that were several sizes too large, alone and nervous. There was the loyal friend and daring Seeker that Ron had written home about during his first year. There was the brave, kind person who was every inch the Boy-Who-Lived, who'd gone down to – _don't think of the place!_ – to save her.

And then there was the new one, the one she'd seen once the Weasley family had returned to Britain back in the final weeks of August. The teenager that wasn't shy so much as quiet, that seemed to want to be alone as much as hang out with Ron and Hermione. The one whose smiles sometimes didn't reach his eyes in quite the same way as they used to, who she found staring into the Common Room fireplace late at night.

This new one, that had put that ponce Malfoy and two others in the Hospital Wing this morning. This new one that everyone said was fighting like a raging animal, with his bare hands, who the rest of the students whispered harshly about in class, who, from the way they described second and third-hand retellings of the story, was the _bad_ kind of angry.

This new one, that had looked her in the eye and told her, in a voice full of kindness and strength, that he'd never have left her _there_.

The day was busy and fairly quiet (or whatever passed for that at Hogwarts), but her mood didn't improve as she glanced over the Gryffindor table at lunch and quickly found Ron and Hermione, but no sign of Harry. He was only the more conspicuous by his absence, and the conversations across the Great Hall still focused on the events of that morning, Hogwarts' reliable rumour-mill helping distort the story out of all proportion.

Harry did, to her surprise and a small flash of relief, appear for dinner, looking drawn but at least, seemingly, okay. Her housemates made a place for him like normal, and appeared largely oblivious to the stares and muttering of the rest of the students. She felt a swell of pride in Gryffindor for that, small kindness as it was. It reminded her of all the stories she'd been told by her brothers before she was old enough to come to Hogwarts, of their friends and how the house sounded like a big family.

When dinner wound down and students began filtering out, she saw Harry slip into the crowd – alone – and disappear around the corner.

 _Let him be, he'll-_

Before she knew what she was doing, she found herself hurrying down the hall, abandoning the conversation she'd been having with one of her friends without so much as a goodbye. She knew she'd pay for that later, and even as she weaved her way through the throng of students bustling through the Entrance Hall she debated just turning around and heading back, making some excuse and pretending like she hadn't suddenly charged off after Harry Potter.

 _Oh no,_ she thought, feeling the blush already rising, her cheeks burning. _I must look like a complete idiot! What was I even thinking?_

Yet she couldn't stop walking, spotting Harry's untidy head of hair already heading up the Grand Staircase between the First and Second Floors. Moving through the crowd, she followed as quickly as she could.

* * *

Harry startled from where he'd been sitting when he heard a knock on the classroom door, firmly clamping down on the reflex to draw his wand, leaping quickly to his feet as the door swung inwards with a _creak_.

"Harry?" A voice – _her voice_ – called out, as she walked into the room.

Suddenly, he felt a small grin tug at his mouth. He'd underestimated her.

"Hey, Ginny," he replied quietly, the nervous tension that tightened his muscles falling away, but instead of feeling lightened, a weight settled on him like a shroud.

She entered the room, her hair catching the light from the candles in their sconces, a miniature dance of light and flames playing out on its red strands for a second. She opened her mouth to speak and paused, blushing, before straightening her back and looking him in the eye.

"I h-heard about this morning," she stated in a small voice, taking a few tentative steps closer before sitting on one of the desks next to him. Seeing that he wasn't going to respond, she continued. "A-Are you okay?"

The weight on his shoulders felt heavier.

"No, not really," he responded with a humourless chuckle and a shake of his head, breaking her gaze and staring at the wall instead.

"What happened?"

"Malfoy and his friends thought they'd try and _teach me a lesson_ ," Harry answered, talking faster now, his voice rising. "They pulled their wands, and they-"

He stopped, making a frustrated gesture with his hands and pacing for a moment, before sitting next to Ginny.

"I wanted to _hurt_ him, Ginny."

"I know."

"No," he replied sadly, "you don't. If Professor Lupin hadn't separated us, I'd have…" he trailed off, letting out a tired breath.

"It's okay," she said kindly, reaching across hesitantly to squeeze his arm.

For a moment, Harry was struck silent by the simple gesture. His train of thought ground to a halt and for a few seconds, he was _free_. The bizarre urge to just _talk_ , to open his mouth and start telling her everything and never stop, pulled at him more strongly than anything he'd ever felt before. It was so _close_ , he just had to reach out and take it.

 _NO._

And the moment passed, her hand returning to her lap, and suddenly he needed to get _out_ , the walls pressing too close, the air heavy and unbreathable. He stood and with a muttered apology and hurried out, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his pocket and throwing it over himself as he heard Ginny shout behind him.

"Harry, wait!"

The corridors twisted under his feet, his vision lurching and distorting as he started to run, running as fast as his feet could take him to the Astronomy Tower, leaping up staircases two-steps-at-a-time. It was too bright, too loud, too-

He threw open the tower door and slammed it shut behind him, pressing his back to it and sliding down to the stone floor, his face in his hands beneath the cloak, the freezing wind whipping at him through its fabric like a shower of icy water.

A few tears burned at the edges of his eyes as the dizziness and disorientation dissipated, his pulse quieting and steadying as he took deep, shuddering breaths.

 _Remember why we're here,_ a voice in the back of his mind urged, but soothingly, free of malice. _We must do this right._

 _I know._

* * *

Remus Lupin sat in his office, a steaming mug of tea clenched tightly between his palms, the heat from the china cup doing little to actually oust the strange, cold feeling that ran through his body as he replayed the events of the day in his mind. The sun had long since dipped past the horizon, the small office cast into looming shadows that flickered and battled the glow of the small fire set in the fireplace.

His mind was, once again, preoccupied with a single individual: Harry Potter.

At the first moment that he'd seen the boy on the train, he'd been astonished at Harry's resemblance to James, and sometimes, as he spotted him with his friends, wandering about the school or training with the Gryffindor Quidditch Team some mornings – at least while it was still light enough to observe from a distance – the two figures, Harry and James, blurred into one.

Of course, the illusion usually lasted only for a moment. As soon as Harry spoke – or didn't, as was often the case – the differences between the two would immediately become clear. Where James was loud, brash, confident, and enjoyed being the centre of attention, Harry was quiet, unassuming, and preferred to be waiting in the wings. Where James tended to swagger, and was always laughing about something or other, his eyes alight with mischief, Harry was shy and reserved, more content to watch and avoid notice.

Until now.

For barely a moment, Harry's face flashed through his mind, the furious promise of violence in his green eyes as he looked up at him from the cobblestones of the courtyard floor.

Remus exhaled sharply as regret and self-admonishment thrummed through his mind. Why was it that he hadn't noticed until now, that there was something drastically, deeply _wrong_ with the boy? Had he been blinded by Harry's resemblance to his father to see it?

Had a part of him _wanted_ to be blind to the truth, because, no matter what, it would mean that James – _and Lily, a voice whispered in his mind_ – were well and truly dead? That they would not live on in their son, as he had caught himself hoping?

 _Foolish old man,_ he thought to himself.

And that didn't even touch the surface. Didn't he see how Harry had _moved?_ He'd been too caught up to notice at the time, but now that he found himself reconsidering the fight in the courtyard, he paid more attention to Harry in the moments that he'd seen in his rush from the Entrance Hall to intervene.

Harry moved lightly, but economically. Not quite like in a duel, he reflected, with its emphasis on formality and tendency towards showmanship. No, the raw straightforwardness of it, it almost reminded him of-

 _No,_ he thought firmly, almost shaking his head and saying the words out loud, the need to deny the suggestion rising like bile in his throat. _He and Harry are nowhere near the same._

Harry moved like he'd done it before a hundred times. He moved like a fighter, direct and graceful, violent, yet – from what he could glean from the crumpled forms of the other Slytherin students – efficient. Where, and from whom, could he have learned such skills? _Why_ would he have needed to learn them? Each new question presented unpleasant new possibilities.

And what of the aftermath? Of Draco Malfoy – blood purist and general irritant he might be – left lying, whimpering in his own blood? Of Harry, who'd kept furiously beating a defenceless opponent right up until the very moment Remus had forced the two apart? Of the fact that for just a second or two, before the boy had halted and his expression had cleared, Harry had seen him as a threat and looked ready to keep fighting – that him being a teacher hadn't even registered with him?

Harry's rage was not your typical – _innocent_ – hormone-addled teenage anger, which even in its most serious forms fell woefully short of what he saw in those familiar green eyes. No, this was something entirely different, and altogether worse.

He'd never mistake Harry for James again.

However, all of this left one very prominent question. What could he do about it?

Remus continued to brood as the crescent-moon in the night sky rose higher and brighter, the fire dying low, its warm invitingness swiftly smothered by the milky ice of moonlight.

* * *

The dog pushed the door of the Shrieking Shack open with a paw before trotting inside, the wind whistling eerily through gaps in the walls, making the whole building creak and shift gently. It sniffed the air deeply, trying to detect any trace of life.

 _Nothing._

With a whirl of motion, the dog was replaced with a man, filthy and unkempt. Sirius Black grimaced as the pain in his joints and feet worsened, wanting nothing more than to head upstairs to the grimy, dust-covered bed he knew would be up there, but he had to double-check.

Slowly, he crept into the stairwell, each room looking more dilapidated than the last. Dust lay thick on every surface, and cobwebs swung between the furniture and in the corners of the rooms. Curtains hung moth-eaten and mouldy by cracked and broken windows, the floorboards groaning with each step.

The deep, musty smell of decay and disuse clung to the air despite the wind outside, the cold doing nothing to kill the staleness of the shack.

 _Empty._

As he was about to head to the bed and try and sleep, he was struck by a strange feeling, something like… _longing._ Turning about, he headed back down the stairs and into the damp stone passage that headed to-

 _Hogwarts._

A rush of memories assaulted him as he continued his stooped walk down the passage.

 _Prongs._

A flash of his round glasses and that stupid thing he did where he ruffled his hair to make it look messier. Sirius felt a pang in his chest.

 _Moony._

The disbelief on his face when the three of them told him they'd become Animagi. That faintly disapproving, yet amused look he always wore when he was supposed to be giving them detentions and didn't. The pain got worse.

Laughter, and something like the taste of pumpkin juice. He couldn't be sure. He'd not eaten wizarding food in twelve years.

 _Wormtail._

He buried the anger that roared in his chest at the name, and kept walking. The passage evened out, then began to climb. Before long, he could see the faint light of the night sky through the gap in the Whomping Willow's trunk. Reaching up as he emerged, he touched the knot with his hand and watched the gnarled tree freeze in place.

And the longing strengthened. He could see it now, only a little way across the grounds. Lights in the windows, the halls standing resolute and exactly as he remembered, the turrets and towers reaching high into the sky, moonlight glinting off the tiles.

 _Home._

He sat down on the damp grass, unconcerned with the cold from the wind, and just _looked._ He drank in the sight of the castle like a man dying of thirst, the memories of happiness and heartbreak and even the boredom of school filling him with strength, yet cutting him deeper than any knife, and hurting more than any curse.

Tears came unbidden, rolling over his gaunt cheeks and into the scraggly beard that had grown over his years of incarceration.

Yet a strange sensation pulled at his face. A motion he'd not felt in a long time.

Sirius Black smiled.


	29. A Hard Truth, Part III

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Here's chapter twenty-nine for you all, I hope you enjoy, and I'm thankful for your support!**

 **Real life chugs on, but on the FFN front, I've been chipping away at a new idea for a story, something to break up my attention for this one when I start to get burnt out during my writing sessions. I don't have enough of a concrete plan or more to post yet, but I'm excited for where the plot is taking itself. Watch this space!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Malfoy's triumphant return to wellness wasn't the boast-filled repeat of their confrontation that Harry had predicted. Instead, as Friday filtered slowly into Saturday morning, the Slytherin students simply once again sported Malfoy's slicked-back hair in their ranks, and the school waited with bated breath for a retaliation. Harry's hand was never far from his wand, his mind running through every shield, defensive Charm and protective spell he could think of, if just to keep himself busy.

Tempers were high over the weekend and into the next week between Gryffindor and Slytherin – there were a few incidents of spell-slinging in the corridors between upper-year students, and a particularly unpleasant prank on one of the Slytherin first-years from students who should've known better – but overall, the explosion that everyone seemed to be waiting for didn't arrive.

The Professors were judicious in their use of detentions and bans from the upcoming Hogsmeade trips, and between McGonagall and Snape's attempts to keep order, both Gryffindor and Slytherin were pushed steadily down the house point tables, rubies and emeralds disappearing from the gilded hourglasses at the far end of the Great Hall several times a day.

Harry knew that this wouldn't be the end of it, though. Malfoy pointedly ignored him, Ron and Hermione in an abrupt, uncharacteristic change of behaviour. There were no more sniping comments, ugly slurs, or attempts to sabotage their schoolwork from him or his cronies. Every time Harry looked at him, the events of their fight ran through his mind, and he'd catch himself trying to wipe non-existent blood from his hands.

"Harry, are you listening?" Remus' voice broke him out of his thoughts, his gaze snapping up to the Werewolf. For an instant, his mouth twitched slightly, showing the barest hint of a smile. His eyes were sympathetic, the pupils glittering gently in the flickering firelight of the office. With a sigh, Remus reached across the desk and closed the textbook that sat in front of him.

In a rather unorthodox move, Harry's first detention with Remus didn't include the usual disciplinary measures – lines, menial tasks or some kind of stern lecture – instead taking the form of a one-on-one Defence Against the Dark Arts theory lesson.

Harry stretched in his seat, placing the quill on the desk and flexing his fingers.

"I think that's enough learning for today," Remus stated gently, standing and sliding the book back into its space on the small bookshelf stood against the wall. "Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked, tapping the nearby kettle with his wand.

"Yes please, sir," Harry answered, packing away his things into his bag and taking a quick glance out of the window. With the light inside the office, the dark outside looked almost opaque, and the stars in the sky only appeared through the panes if he looked hard enough. With October steadily rolling on, the days grew increasingly short.

A few moments passed in comfortable silence as Remus poured the tea, before handing a cup to Harry and sitting across from him, taking a long draught as he studied him.

"How are you feeling?" he asked abruptly, his voice gentle but his eyes less so.

"I'm alright, sir, really," Harry replied. "Although I'm pleased you're not making me write lines," he added with a small grin.

"I'm glad to hear it," Remus chuckled. "I've sat though my fair share of Hogwarts detentions, and I assure you that it's no less boring overseeing the detention than it is being the subject of it. I'd prefer to do something more productive with our evenings."

"I can't disagree with you there, sir."

Remus smiled slightly and remained quiet for a few moments, the silence coming thick and difficult between the two of them. When he spoke again, his voice was careful.

"You know, I was surprised, when we studied Boggarts last month, that yours didn't take a different form."

Harry's mind ground to a halt, the tiredness flushing out of his system as if burned away.

 _Damn._

"Sir?" he replied neutrally, trying to sound confused.

"Well – you'll have to forgive the assumption, I'm afraid – I thought for a moment that it would've taken the form of Lord Voldemort," he mused, his eyes flicking over Harry's expression briefly, before he smiled gently. "I must profess I was rather worried when it started to change, for if it had become Voldemort it would probably have been a great shock to the other students."

"I don't really remember him, sir, if that's what you were wondering," Harry answered.

 _Of course you don't_ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind even as he recalled Voldemort's terrifying visage and the gleeful look in his red eyes when he saw him take the Locket from Malfoy Manor. That flash of total victory, knowing that he'd finally killed Harry Potter.

 _Except he didn't. We're still here._

"For your sake, Harry, I am glad that you don't," Remus said, his face closing off a moment as his eyes became distant and sad. "Whatever you might've heard of Lord Voldemort, I assure you that the reality was far worse."

 _Yeah, it is._

"He took a lot from both of us, sir," Harry murmured, an image of red hair and gently floating embers appearing in his mind.

"I found myself quite surprised, then," Remus continued, his attention shifting back to the present, "in the form your Boggart took, in the end. Did you recognise it?"

 _Yes._

"No, sir."

"That is intriguing – please, I don't mean to make you feel singled out, Harry," he added hurriedly, although Harry could tell he was concentrating, "there have been some cases like yours involving Boggarts, where the witches or wizards involved either didn't know or otherwise understand their worst fear, and I find them quite fascinating, in their own way."

"I understand, sir."

Harry could tell that his lack of elaboration was forcing Remus away from this line of inquiry, and indeed only a few seconds passed when the Werewolf made a show of looking at his watch.

"Is that the time, already?" he asked out loud. "You'd best be off back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry. Your next detention will be on Friday evening, alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Remus smiled kindly. "Take care getting back to the Tower, and try not to loiter."

* * *

Harry didn't return to Gryffindor Tower.

Halfway up the Grand Staircase, he saw her, again, lounging on the Fourth Floor landing like she belonged there, a coy smile on her face.

"Hello, love," she said, stepping into his path before he could proceed, the hand she placed against his chest feeling just as warm and physical as it would if it were real, rather than some bizarre figment of his imagination, or whatever this was.

"You can't be- you _aren't_ here," he ground out through gritted teeth, not meeting her eyes, which he knew were dancing with laughter.

"And why would that be?" she asked. "I'm sure I'm real enough to you right now."

"You know why," Harry clenched his fists in his pockets, his wand held tight in his right hand.

" _Because I'm dead?_ " her voice was filled with sarcasm. "Says who? You?" she laughed then, a giggle that turned into something bigger. Harry felt a tug in his chest. "Since you're busy lying to everyone you know and talking to yourself – or to people who aren't there – I'm not so sure that what you say about me is the truth, anymore.

"And even if I _were_ dead," she added, "why on earth would that mean that I can't be here?"

Harry didn't have a clear answer to that, and settled for pushing roughly past her and storming up the staircase-

Only to find her loitering on the Fifth Floor landing, picking some imaginary dirt from under her nails.

"We need to have a conversation," she stated as if she were discussing the weather.

"Why don't you just _leave me the fuck alone_ ," Harry snarled, stepping around and up to the Sixth Floor, entirely unsurprised to see her sitting on the outer edge of the banister, swinging her legs into the open air of the hall, looking down to the ground floor far below.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily, I'm afraid," she said cheerily over her shoulder as Harry kept moving, taking the steps two at a time.

He could see the Seventh Floor landing up ahead, only for the staircase to lurch suddenly beneath him and begin to move. Harry let out an inarticulate growl of frustration as he gripped the banister in his free hand, the other remaining clenched around his wand.

The staircase rotated, coming to a rest at one of the many single doors that opened into the hall – one Harry couldn't remember having been through before. As he was about to take a step towards it, he paused.

"I suppose you think this is your idea of a joke," he spoke aloud, angrily. No one answered him. Turning about, he couldn't see her anywhere, the expansive space only filled with the hubbub of the moving portraits and the rumbling stones of the staircases.

 _Fuck, nothing else for it._

He stepped up to the door, pushing it open and emerging into a deserted hallway with tall windows on one wall and gently _crackling_ torches in sconces along the other. Unfortunately, due to the often bizarre and improbable geography of Hogwarts, he had no idea which floor he'd ended up on. Lupin's warning about loitering flashed through his mind and, grimacing slightly at its appropriateness – if for entirely different reasons – he set off along the corridor, casting a glance at the darkened grounds outside through the windows as he walked.

 _No ground floor exits – high up, too. Fourth Floor? Fifth? Can't tell without more light._

Unease prickled at his skin, and he started walking faster, the wooden floor of the hallway creaking and groaning with each step. His pace quickened.

Tense seconds passed as he hurried, not recognising his surrounds at all, passing heavy-looking doors and statues whose shadows flickered high and menacing in the torchlight, looming in alcoves and hidden around corners. His feet hit carpet and he nearly stumbled, hissing out a surprised curse.

The flames of the torches danced and weaved in his peripheral vision as he passed them, the light looking like shadowy figures, the hair on his arms standing on end and his senses taut with danger. He glanced out of a nearby window for a moment and stumbled, his shoes scuffing noisily on the thick carpet.

In the black sky outside, embers floated lazily by, glittering and weaving in a slow dance of rubies and gold. His mind caught up, and he hurried on, the corridor behind him looking menacing and dangerous despite the torchlight. Casting a glance out of the window every few feet, he saw the embers thicken, pursued by nearly-imperceptible curls of smoke, until what was outside became inside.

As he turned a corner, the corridor grew darker, the torch sconces that had up until now been lit lying cold and empty. The only light now cast ahead of him was brighter and harsher, the rumbling _crackle_ of the flames rising steadily as it consumed the floorboards.

 _A fire? What the fuck?_

Confusion and alarm ran through his mind as he stopped, panic rising in his chest before he ruthlessly clamped it down, cold control flooding his limbs with energy.

 _Gotta alert someone._

He turned back, only to find the corridor behind him plunged into darkness, the wall sitting plain and empty, a surface of blank stone in the place of the windows that he knew had existed a moment before.

 _Oh, no._

The heat from the fire grew, and he contemplated turning and running into the darkness, to try and find his way out of this… nightmare. But even as he considered the idea, a deep, irrational fear pulled at his heart, making his palms break out in a cold sweat. Somehow, he knew that he couldn't go that way.

So he walked onwards, cautiously now, despite a part of him yelling for him to run, to get out as quickly as possible. He didn't know what awaited him ahead. Moments passed as he padded softly forwards, the heat washing over him as he approached the flames, until he saw a figure on the other side of the fire, approaching.

He stopped dead, thumbing his wand in his pocket and gripping it tightly as the figure drew closer, walking through the flames, unconcerned with their presence. He sucked in a breath and raised his wand as he recognised the man heading towards him.

Sirius Black looked exactly like he had those years ago, thin and gaunt, an uncharacteristically gentle smile on his face as he regarded Harry. The flames beneath his feet licked at his trousers, but they didn't burn.

"You're looking well, Harry," he said cheerily as his eyes flicked over him, "for a dead man."

 _Sirius, too? What the fuck is going on?_ Harry's mind was awhirl with questions as he studied the man in front of him, the man who'd _died._

"What are you doing here, Sirius?" he asked carefully, not lowering his wand.

Future-Sirius grinned, all yellowed teeth and looking far more menacing than he should, loping out of the fire towards him. Harry sidestepped and began to circle him as he wandered past before sitting down on a wooden seat that hadn't been there a moment before.

"To the point, then," he said almost sadly, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a large knife – one Harry knew very well, it was Sirius' weapon of choice in the later years of his life, other than his wand – and a small whetstone, running the rock along the length of the blade, the metal gleaming orange and gold in the firelight.

 _Scrape, scrape._

"We're overdue a conversation, I think," he stated, his eyes not leaving the blade in his hand.

"No we aren't," Harry retorted angrily. "Dead people don't talk, see."

"Sure they do, Harry, you've just got to know how to _listen_." The last word was hissed out quietly, the sound almost buried by the fire raging a few metres down the hall.

 _Scrape, scrape._

"Crunch-time's coming, Harry," he warned. "The other me will be trying to break into Gryffindor Tower any day, now. You prepared?"

"I want to leave, Sirius," Harry stated forcefully, his voice laced with threat. "You aren't here, and I don't have to listen to you."

"You'll get to leave soon enough, don't worry about that," Sirius waved his concerns away as he focused on the repetitive motions of sharpening his knife. "But not until I'm finished talking with you."

 _Scrape, scrape._

"I don't know what I'll be expecting, but I guarantee you'll surprise me – the other me, I mean. But how can you be sure that he's going to believe you? Not think you're insane, or," – he waved the knife around him in a broad gesture at their current surroundings – "some figment of his imagination?"

"I'm sure I can persuade him."

"You going to use him, too?"

 _Scrape, scrape._

The question threw Harry for a moment, the nonchalance of how it was asked nearly making him miss what was being said. His grip tightened on his wand.

"I need you – the other you. I'll tell him the truth, show him, if I need to. But this is more important than any of us, you know that."

"I'm sure it looks that way to someone who thinks they're holding all the cards," Sirius mused out loud, twirling the blade in his hand before setting it down to sharpen the other side.

 _Scrape, scrape._

"I was impressed with your little bust-up with old Draco, by the way. Your skills are still sharp," his tone was one of pride, Harry recognised. "We'll make a proper killer out of you, yet."

Harry frowned, the aftermath of his duel with Bellatrix flashing through his mind. "I don't do things that way, Sirius."

Sirius looked up, his grey eyes alight with the dancing flames at the end of the corridor, and, Harry thought, a hint of madness.

"I know, because I did _for_ you. You know, the thing they never teach you about killing," – he held the knife up to his eye, looking along its length – "is how easy it is to _enjoy_." He brought the whetstone back down to the blade. "By the end of it, every time I slit one of those Death Eaters' throats I felt great. Every single one I put in the ground was one more for Prongs. For Moony. For Lily. For every other friend of mine they murdered, and the innocents in between."

 _Scrape, scrape._

"And you think that you'll be able to keep your hands clean this time, as well? Not that they ever _were_ clean, if we're being honest with ourselves." Sirius' movements grew sharper, filled with a manic energy. "By coming back, the way you have, and with what you plan to do, you don't get the luxury of clean hands. Malfoy's was the first, but it certainly won't be the last blood spilt on your mission, and you'd be a fool if you thought differently.

"You plan to take the Horcruxes, whatever and wherever they are, and destroy them. You plan to undermine the Dark Lord's return before he's even come up with an idea how, and you think you can do it without bloodshed?" his tone turned incredulous.

Harry willed his hand not to shake as he bared his teeth. A part of him wanted to cut this off, to unleash every illusion-breaking spell in his arsenal until he found a way out, but another, quieter voice whispered in the back of his mind.

 _You know he's right._

Sirius glanced up, a look that was half-joy, half-sadness on his face, his eyes boring into Harry's. "In truth, I know that I'd never want this for you, and that if I could I would _always_ take that hit so you wouldn't have to." – Harry scoffed – "Honestly, I would. But my time is past, now, anyway – after all, I'm dead."

 _Scrape, scrape._

"You will come to face some very difficult decisions, Harry. Decisions no godfathers, headmasters or guardians can make for you. And with each one you make, it might get more difficult not to lose pieces of yourself along the way. Although this might not be our last conversation – but I'm thinking it could be – this is the last lesson I will ever give you.

"Good luck, kiddo," he stood and looked him in the eye, the fire that raged in a few metres away disappearing abruptly, plunging the corridor into inky darkness.

" _And good hunting_." The words were a harsh whisper right in Harry's ear, the suddenness of it making him yelp with surprise. He recovered quickly, darting his wand about in the pitch darkness, but he could hear nothing save his own frantic breathing, the torches flickering back to life a moment later.

Where Sirius and his chair had been, there sat a window that looked out over the grounds, flanked on either side by identical counterparts, running the length of the corridor's wall and disappearing around the corner at the end.


	30. To Catch A Rat, Part I

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **It's a New Years' Miracle! I hope you've all had a good 2017, and that 2018 is a good one also! I apologise for the wait for this chapter - but writing came to me very slowly over the past month. Dialogue wouldn't flow, scenes became disjointed, and I've had to make some serious decisions about the plot direction in this and the next chapter, contrary to my initial plans.  
**

 **I've realised perhaps the biggest issue with this story (and I think of many, woo-hoo self-deprecation!) is that the pacing is pretty much _glacial_. I will be trying to get things moving more quickly from now on, and dividing the chapters into more scenes that cover greater lengths of time - except where absolutely major scenes feature that need the extra words.**

 **Anyway, please enjoy, and thank you for all your support so far!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

Harry ate his dinner slowly, despite not feeling hungry, consumed with his plan. The last week of October had passed at a frustrating pace, each day drawing Harry closer to his first tangible goal since his return. He glanced up at the Great Hall's windows, examining the pitch darkness outside.

Sometime during the feast, Sirius was going to break into Hogwarts and try and get into Gryffindor Tower, slashing the Fat Lady's portrait with his knife and escaping when he'd be denied entry.

He was going to stop that from happening, intercepting Sirius before he made it to the portrait, and taking him aside to bring him into the fold, for as long as it took to convince him.

 _If you can, of course._

For a second, his encounter with Sirius' counterpart flashed through his mind, and his gut twisted with unease.

 _Crunch-time, Harry_.

Excited chatter and the sounds of cutlery against plates were almost a veritable roar this evening, the tables weighed down with extravagant food and the seats filled with students to eat it. The first Hogsmeade weekend had just been and gone, and the elation of the student body had only grown by Halloween evening. As he glanced around, he felt a small twinge in his stomach, the joyous atmosphere feeling twisted and wrong for the briefest moment.

Harry's parents had died on Halloween.

He couldn't really remember them, of course, save for a few snippets and some moments he wasn't even sure were real events rather than elaborate dreams or something similar. He'd never forget seeing them in the Mirror of Erised all those years ago but today, of all days, he remembered the dead he _did_ know. The friends who'd bled and died in a war that they shouldn't have had to fight, against an enemy they couldn't defeat.

Sirius. Ron. Hermione. Remus.

Ginny.

Everyone else.

As he looked around, his eyes travelling over faces he'd seen cold and unseeing, over others who'd died in flashes of green light, or fire and heat, or to the claws and fangs of some magical beast, the happiness of the feast burned like ice. So many of them had no idea their days were numbered.

The sensation continued until Ron called his name, breaking him out of his thoughts. Turning to him with a slight smile, Harry joined in the conversation, nodding and laughing where appropriate, but his hands were wound tight around his cutlery.

He was out of time, in every sense of the phrase. He nudged Ron and let him know he needed to head to the bathroom, and quickly stood and headed out, hoping that he didn't look as suspicious as he felt he did.

Turning left out of the door, he headed onto the Grand Staircase, pulling the Invisibility Cloak over his head and muffling his footsteps as best he could, creeping up the stairs as fast as he could manage.

Minutes passed in tense silence as he ascended, the expansive room absent of movement or activity, save the staircases and portraits, of course. Eventually, he reached the base of the Seventh Floor staircase, the small landing providing him with an unobstructed view of the Fat Lady's portrait.

He didn't have to wait long.

He heard Sirius approaching before he saw him, the steady _patter-patter_ of dogs' paws on stone announcing his godfather's presence. Sure enough, a black shape darted up the stairs from the Fifth Floor, hurrying beneath the candles and torch sconces that littered the walls, the light glinting slightly off Padfoot's shaggy fur.

Harry held his wand steady as Padfoot slowed down, before morphing a blur of shifting muscle and skin into Sirius, as filthy and bedraggled as Harry had ever seen him, clutching a large knife in a claw-like fist.

Sirius didn't even have time to cry out as Harry threw back the cloak and petrified him in the same breath, catching him with a Levitation Charm before he could fall and tossing the cloak over his ramrod-straight body.

The whole capture had taken maybe five seconds, and Harry was certain that the nearby portraits hadn't observed it clearly enough to make out what was happening. With any luck it would stay that way. Gently ushering Sirius' floating form up the staircase with a flick of his wand, he headed past the Fat Lady's portrait and into the Seventh Floor Corridor.

"Easy, Padfoot," he hissed out loud, continuing along the corridor until he reached the entrance to the Room of Requirement. He wasted no time in thinking of a room and pacing back and forth in front of the wall, leaving Sirius floating silently a few feet behind him.

With a rumble of stone, the door appeared, and Harry entered with Sirius in tow. They emerged into a well-furnished drawing room, with some comfortable chairs circled around a large fire pit in the centre of the floor, the flames already _crackling_ merrily.

Pulling the cloak off Sirius, Harry leaned over his floating form and stared into his godfather's grey eyes for the first time in years. He felt an unexpected rush of warmth in his chest at seeing Sirius again. Sirius' eyes, however, were not as warm as his own surely were. His pupils were slightly dilated, and they flicked around the room erratically. _Fearfully_.

"Sirius, I need to you to stay calm, alright?" Harry asked clearly, folding the cloak and putting it inside his robes. "I haven't brought you to any authorities, nor am I going to. I'm going to lift the petrification now. Please don't attack me, or do anything rash."

With a flick of his wand, Sirius started moving, slowly at first, then sudden and energetic. Harry took a quick step back as he lowered him gently to the floor, where his godfather lay for barely a second before suddenly scrambling to his feet, his eyes wild and his hands held tight around the handle of his knife.

"S…stay back," he ordered hoarsely. His eyes darted around the room quickly, searching for anyone hiding in the shadows, or maybe looking for exits.

"Sirius, it's alright," Harry urged gently, holding up his hands, but keeping his wand in a loose grip. "There's just us here, okay? Just the two of us."

Sirius blinked owlishly at him for a moment, before his stance relaxed slightly.

 _Come on, Sirius, relax._

"If it's okay with you, could you put the knife away, please?" Harry asked. "You're making me slightly nervous."

Sirius straightened up, looking down at his hands as if he was just seeing them for the first time. A moment or two passed before his fingers unclenched, and the knife clattered loudly to the floor.

"…Harry…" Sirius whispered, staring hard at the teenager across from him.

"It's me, Sirius – we've met, remember?" Harry gestured to one of the chairs, taking a few paces and sitting in one opposite. "When you visited Surrey before school. Have a seat, please. We've not got much time."

Sirius nodded jerkily, before shakily making his way over to the chair Harry indicated and slumping down into it with a sigh.

"Right – the Halloween feast is going on right now, Sirius, and I came to intercept you before you broke into Gryffindor Tower," Harry said quickly.

"Wha…? How'd you-" Sirius started, falling silent when Harry held up a hand.

"Quiet, please, we can talk more later. Suffice to say, that _I know why you're here_ ," Harry stated, staring unblinkingly into Sirius' eyes and willing him to understand. "I only got out of the feast with an excuse, and I'll likely already be missed. I need to get back there, but I'll return as soon as I can, alone, and with some food for you. Alright?"

Sirius looked confused, but nodded.

"Now, I need you to listen to me. _Do not, under any circumstances, leave this room,_ " Harry ordered sharply. "Inside the castle, this room is the only safe place for you. It's enchanted – the room changes to suit someone's wishes. Because of the way I commanded it, no one will be able to even _see_ the door except myself. If you step outside, you won't be able to get back in, and you'll be caught for sure."

He stood up, his voice pleading.

"I'll be back soon. Please, _please_ , stay where you are."

Sirius mumbled his confused assent as Harry turned and headed to the door. Before he opened it, he turned back to his godfather, meeting his eyes across the fire pit. "For what it's worth, it's good to see you again, Sirius. We've got a lot to talk about."

* * *

He hurtled down the stairs as fast as he dared, filing – as quietly as he could manage – back into the Great Hall as the main course was winding down. Ron shot him a questioning glance as he sat back down at the table, but Harry shook his head, grinning.

Despite all his fear, all the things that could've gone wrong and stopped his mission dead in its tracks before he could even get it started, he'd got Sirius. Against all the odds – _and some unforeseen hurdles along the way,_ a voice in the back of his mind whispered – he'd managed to ensure Sirius' safety, and with it his first true objective was complete.

He looked down at the food on his plate, the success making him giddy and suddenly ravenous. As he wolfed down roast chicken and vegetables, he squirreled away pieces into his empty schoolbag, tucked between his legs beneath the table.

"If you don't at least chew your food, Harry, you're going to choke," Hermione chided from across the table, an expression of distaste on her face.

He just laughed in response, and kept eating whilst she shook her head. Ron snorted too, sniggering, and after a few seconds a small grin tugged at Hermione's mouth too. Harry felt lighter than he had in weeks.

Before long, the usual dizzying array of desserts had come and gone, and Dumbledore sent the students back to their dormitories for the night. Harry kept his bag close, now filled with a modest selection of food for Sirius. A twinge of unease tugged at him as he walked back up to Gryffindor Tower with the rest of his housemates – worry that Sirius mightn't have listened to his instructions, but as he gazed upon the undamaged portrait of the Fat Lady his spirits lifted slightly.

The next hour and a half was difficult. The Gryffindors remained active and excited for some time, talking and playing games in the Common Room, and then up in their dormitories when it started to get late. Harry took part, but his attention began to drift quickly to Sirius, who was hopefully still – _languishing, alone_ – in the Room of Requirement.

Waiting for him to come back.

After what felt like far too long, his friends headed to bed, and Harry with them. He waited a few minutes in the darkness until the sounds of sleep had taken over the dormitory, before throwing on the Invisibility Cloak and heading back out into the castle, carefully manoeuvring his way past the Gryffindors still up and about in the Common Room.

* * *

He glanced around the corridor, seeing no one in sight, as planned. Opening the door, he slipped inside, Sirius' name dying on his lips as he saw, his godfather's skeletal figure curled up in the corner of the room, his back to the door. For how little Sirius' chest was moving, he almost could've been dead.

Harry put his bag down near the armchairs and padded softly over to Sirius, kneeling and reaching out carefully before shaking his godfather's shoulder with his left hand. With a sudden rattle of breath, his godfather cried out hoarsely, writhing and kicking out blindly.

Unprepared, Harry fell back onto the floor, pushing himself back to his feet as he grabbed at Sirius' flailing arms, trying to hold him down.

"Sirius!" he yelled, hoping to bring his godfather back to full wakefulness. "It's alright, it's me, Harry! Wake up!"

Sirius continued thrashing, trying to throw him off. Fortunately, his godfather's emaciated condition had sapped him of his strength, and Harry pinned him as best he could under his weight, continuing to shake him and yell whilst Sirius screamed, his broken voice making the sound come out as a breathless groan.

After what felt like far too long, although it could only have been a few seconds, Sirius stilled, his eyes fluttering open suddenly, alert. His pupils darted over Harry, who was leaning over him, and around as much of the room as he could see.

He let out a low, quiet hiss of breath, tension bleeding from his muscles. Harry relaxed his grip on Sirius' limbs and helped him sit up, hauling his godfather back towards the wall so that he could see the rest of the room.

"You alright?" he asked quietly, Sirius' eyes flicking over to his before his godfather gave a sharp nod. He looked pale and shaken, but determined.

"Okay," Harry nodded in response, "I'm going to grab my bag – I brought some food for you." With a flick of his wand, the bag came floating gently over to the two of them.

Putting it gently in Sirius' lap, he sat back and crossed his legs. Sirius shot him a look and made a curious-sounding grunt.

"Eat. Everyone's gone to sleep for the night, so we've got time. We can talk after."

Sirius nodded, wasting no more time and devouring the food with gusto. Harry used his wand to conjure two rough wooden cups, and filled them with a quick **_Aguamenti_**. Sirius frowned momentarily at Harry before taking a cup with a thankful grunt.

When Sirius was done eating, Harry cleaned up with a few charms and helped his godfather to his feet. After having eaten, Sirius was looking a lot better, his skin – whilst still being waxy and pale – having lost some of the more immediate sickly tones. The two of them made their way to the armchairs and sat around the fire, which Harry noted hadn't lost any of its size or warmth since he'd first entered the room.

Sirius considered the flames for a moment, the grey irises of his eyes glinting in their light. "How did you know I was coming here?" he asked hoarsely, his glance darting over to Harry. "Does anyone else suspect?" there was a note of panic in his voice.

"No," Harry answered reassuringly, his own stomach turning slightly with unease as he explained.

"After the sighting last month, I put two-and-two together. You'd only be coming north for two reasons – to kill me, or to kill someone else. I wager that you're not here for me," he finished with a humourless grin. "If you'd been given away tonight, things would be a lot more dangerous, but right now no one's got any reason to panic."

 _You didn't tell him,_ a quiet voice observed from the back of his mind. Harry ignored it.

"Good," Sirius murmured, his eyes growing cold as he pulled his knife out from inside his filthy prison robes. "That means I can take care of this quickly."

"That's not how this is going to go, Sirius," Harry interrupted, his godfather turning to glare angrily at him.

"What d'you mean, that's not how it's going to go?" Sirius retorted, his cheeks colouring slightly. "Don't you know what _he's_ done!?" he raised his voice agitatedly.

"You're not going to kill Pettigrew."

"Why not!?" Sirius leapt to his feet, his expression furious. "He deserves it, for what he did to Lily and James! To me!"

"Revenge for their deaths is not up to you," Harry retorted calmly, remaining seated and fixing Sirius with a steady glare. "They might've been your friends, but they were _my parents_."

"Bollocks to that!" Sirius half-shouted, his eyes glittering with mad energy. "He betrayed them, he betrayed all of us, and I'm going to make him pay!" he took a step towards the door, only for a Shield Charm to spring up in his way.

"Sirius," Harry said, his voice cold and direct, "Calm. Down. Now." He clenched his wand tightly in his hand – a gesture of authority that his godfather recognised, the older man sullenly making his way back to his chair, his eyes sharp and angry.

"I know you want him dead. A part of me does, too," Harry admitted in a conciliatory tone, leaning forward in his chair and regarding Sirius across from him. "But stop and think for one second, alright? You kill Pettigrew, and you get your revenge. Then what?

"You go home, wherever that is? No, your life in Britain – and probably any civilised country, is _done_. I'm trying to get you to make the right decision."

Sirius' expression cooled, the anger ebbing away slightly.

 _Understand, you stubborn son of a bitch._

"You'll spend the rest of your life living in caves, eating scraps and evading justice. You'll never be able to settle down for fear of being recognised and turned in to the Ministry, who'll have you Kissed the same day. Hell, even the _muggles_ have been warned about your escape." – Sirius paled at the mention of the Dementors – "If Pettigrew can be captured _alive_ , and turned in to Dumbledore before the Ministry can cover it up, they'll have no choice but to exonerate you.

"This _has_ to happen, Sirius, _it has to_." Harry insisted, staring unblinkingly into his godfather's eyes.

"Why?"

The ruins of Hogwarts from the future flashed through his mind.

"Because I need you."

Sirius' expression froze.

 _Ah, I see._

"Do you know what my life has been like, until now?" Harry asked quietly, flicking his gaze over to the fire. "You're the first chance at a proper – a _real_ life that I've ever had. The teachers didn't want to tell me about you. They figured that it would only upset me, knowing that one of my parents' best friends was in prison for causing their murder."

 _It's not even a lie. Not really. He_ _ **was**_ _my first chance at a real life, all those years ago_ , a voice murmured in the back of his mind.

"You aren't guilty of their deaths any more than I am," – Sirius sucked in a sharp breath – "and I _will not_ allow you to throw away your shot at justice for the likes of Peter Pettigrew. We'll capture him, and get all of this straightened out, and put right.

"And when it's done," Harry said, lifting his eyes to Sirius' and giving the man a tentative smile, "you and I will have all the time we need."

Sirius ducked his head, and when he brought it up again, his expression was missing the manic energy that had gripped it earlier. His eyes were filled with sadness, but also something that looked like pride.

"Alright," he said in a half-whisper, before clearing his throat loudly. "How do we get Pettigrew?"

Harry's smile turned shark-like.

"I have a plan."


	31. To Catch A Rat, Part II

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any claim of ownership. All rights belong to the copyright holders and J.K. Rowling.**

 **A/N**

 **Material has flowed well into these most recent chapters, along with some character development taking an interesting turn, different to what I initially had planned. But that was how the chips fell, so to speak, and that was where my versions of the characters seem interested in taking me.**

 **On the RL front, I've sorted several big things out - I'm employed again, for one - so I expect my free time to be all kinds of messed up in the coming weeks/months, but with any luck I'll find a good balance in time.**

 **Please, enjoy!**

 **\- JudgeKnox**

* * *

"Harry, pay attention!" Wood shouted as he swooped past, following the Chasers' movements and bellowing encouragement as they soared across the pitch. Harry darted his eyes away from the road to Hogsmeade and turned about on his broom, following the team's progress as he scanned the sky for the practice Snitch.

He'd bade Sirius seek shelter in the Shrieking Shack since their meeting a few days prior, and had ordered him to stay there, and under no circumstances was he to leave except when Harry came and collected him personally. His godfather had looked mutinous at the prospect of sitting out the first moments of Pettigrew's capture, but Harry didn't want to keep Sirius inside the castle – even in the Room of Requirement – if he could at all help it.

And, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he wasn't ready to trust Sirius.

His godfather's condition had improved since their first meeting – Harry had been bringing packages of food from the kitchens himself if he could make it, or sending them with Hedwig. However, Sirius was still prone to dangerous fits of delusion and emotional instability, perhaps even memory loss. Harry had no point of reference to check, but it certainly seemed the case. The specifics of his godfather's condition therefore changed on an almost daily basis, and it made him too much of an unknown variable.

When that was coupled with the intense, almost _physical_ reaction that was caused whenever Pettigrew was mentioned, and the disquieting glint in Sirius' grey eyes, he'd realised that he just couldn't trust his godfather to keep his head when confronted with James and Lily's betrayer.

The trap was almost set – but Harry needed the Marauder's Map to do it. He had good chances of avoiding detection with a Supersensory Charm, but he couldn't leave it to chance.

Although he'd planned to obtain the Map in similar circumstances to the first time, that was no longer an option. With the first Hogsmeade weekend now past, he'd have to wait until the next one at the beginning of the Christmas holidays if he wanted to take that course.

The very suggestion of waiting so long with Pettigrew practically in his grasp sickened him. No, he'd get the Map over the weekend, after the first Quidditch match of the season on Saturday.

He did his best to silence the thoughts of disgust that accompanied the notion of stealing from Fred and George, justifying it as best he could.

 _It's the only way._

Flattening out on his broom, he began circling the pitch whilst the team practiced below. Occasionally one of the Weasley twins would send a Bludger careering into his path, but his attention didn't waver for the rest of the early-morning session, and he caught the Snitch after about fifteen minutes, electing to help the Chasers practice until breakfast. The air was unseasonably warm and humid, expectant of a storm.

Friday evening found him back in Conjuration lessons with McGonagall – they'd since moved on from blocks to more complicated shapes, with the aim of reaching rudimentary functional objects by the end of the school year. The Deputy Headmistress was slightly more formal and detached since his fight with Malfoy, but that didn't affect the quality of her instruction. Under her watchful eye, he was fast improving.

* * *

The storm broke in the early hours of the morning, and by the end of breakfast gale-force winds and a veritable wall of freezing rain hammered against the Great Hall's windows, the ancient glass rattling in its frames. The Gryffindor players watched with grim satisfaction from across the room as the Slytherin Captain tried to protest the game's continuation to Professor Snape.

The conditions hadn't even moderately improved a half-hour later when the match was due to start, the downpour so thick and fast that the entire team was thoroughly soaked by the time they'd made it down to the changing rooms.

As they walked out onto the pitch to the roar of the crowd – which was surprisingly muted against the howling winds and booming thunder above – and mounted their brooms, his stomach dropped, and realisation crashed down on him.

He'd been so busy, so preoccupied with the plan, that he'd forgotten what happened on this day.

The Dementors.

A bolt of ice ran down his spine, every hair standing on end, and it had nothing to do with the rain. He almost missed the start of the match at the sharp sound of Madam Hooch's whistle, hastily taking the Nimbus up high so that he could work on spotting the Snitch.

It was almost surreal to face a match with stakes like these. He had to end it as quickly as possible, get everyone back inside the safety of the castle. He-

Lightning flashed overhead, and he caught sight, in the very back of the Gryffindor stands, silhouetted against the suddenly-illuminated clouds above – a massive, dark-furred dog.

His heart almost stopped. When the beat finally carried over to the next, his disbelief gave way to anger.

 _Sirius, what have you done?_

He snarled wordlessly, tightening his grip on the handle of the Nimbus as he swept away, pelting along the pitch, keeping an eye out for the slightest glint of the Golden Snitch. The minutes ticked by in a disjointed blur of motion and freezing cold, the game beneath a frenzied blur of coloured cloaks, permeated by the occasional loud _gong_ of the score-counter, or Lee Jordan's unique style of commentary.

Fifteen exhausting minutes in, there was still no sign of the Snitch. At every pass of the Gryffindor stands, he saw Sirius' Animagus form staring back at him, utterly oblivious to the danger, to what was at stake.

His anger – at himself, for failing to anticipate this, for being unable to stop what might be coming, and at Sirius' apparent inability to follow _basic fucking instructions_ , roared through his mind far louder than the storm around him.

The game was called to quick time-out by the Slytherin Captain, and in their own team-talk Harry learned that Gryffindor were a few goals ahead, but that he _really needed to catch the damn Snitch, Potter_ , to paraphrase Oliver. The rain hadn't let up – if anything, it was getting worse – and it seemed like even the spectators wanted to leave.

Once they were back up in the air, he noticed that Malfoy was tailing him, rather than looking for the Snitch himself. Malfoy had the faster broom, but at this point Harry couldn't care less who won the match, as long as it was over.

A minute or two later he spotted it, darting low along the edge of the pitch. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he dipped the Nimbus into a steep dive, his body – despite the worry that gripped him – relishing in the raw sensation of flight. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Malfoy – now a green blur – doing the same, hot on his tail.

The Snitch weaved left and right, as agile as ever despite the winds that threatened to buffet it off course. Harry followed as best he could, his eyes keeping up where the broom could not, chasing the Snitch as it rose high above the frantic match taking place below.

Malfoy dogged his flight path, but took a poor opportunity to catch the Snitch early, swooping past on his Nimbus 2001 and overshooting as the gold ball abruptly dropped and turned, right into Harry's grasp.

Relief bloomed in his chest as he cheered – more to himself than anyone else in the roar of the storm – before dipping the broom back towards the ground, holding the ball for everyone to see. The three-quarters of the crowd who weren't supporting Slytherin, and a few of the green-and-silver clad spectators also, cheered and whooped and stamped in a bellow of noise that drowned out the thunder and wind, and for a moment the stadium was filled with a sense of euphoria.

And then the storm, which appeared to quieten, briefly muted behind the cheers of the crowd, fell almost silent, replaced by a chill of ice so sharp it felt like it was stinging his lungs. Rain turned almost instantly to shards of hail, and the wind tore at his skin as if it were barbed wire.

And then the screams started.

He felt them before he saw them, the cold growing more pronounced by the second, until suddenly they were there, drifting soundlessly out of the forest in droves, a horde of eerie black figures whose cloaks were utterly unaffected by the thundering wind.

The crowd was in pandemonium, and deep, almost instinctual fear screamed at him to use his broom to escape, to get out and run whilst he still could. A part of him seriously considered taking that course, until he remembered-

 _SIRIUS._

He whirled about as he saw spellfire erupt from the Gryffindor stands – students trying whatever hexes or jinxes they knew to defend themselves, for sure. Blurry figures leapt from the lower stands onto the pitch, running in every direction. He couldn't see Sirius in the stampede.

Drawing his wand from inside his robe, he pointed it towards the Dementors, taking a deep, freezing breath that tore at the inside of his lungs.

" ** _EXPECTO PATRONUM!_** " he yelled, forcing his willpower into the spell, picturing a happy memory in his mind's eye.

 _"Lily, it's him, he's here! Take Harry and go, I'll hold him off!"_

 _No._

 _"Stand aside, silly girl!"_

 _NO._

Hail lashed at his face, and his wand remained still, the cold growing in his chest as the Dementors swarmed over the pitch.

 _Embers glittered above, dancing into the night sky as the castle burned, her limp form held in his arms, blood dripping through his fingers._

Nothing. No light, no warmth, no **_Patronus_**. With a yell, he flattened out on the Nimbus, and shot like a bullet towards the Dementors, his wand pointed in front of him.

 _Plan B._

" ** _FULGURIS MAXIMA!_** " he screamed. For the briefest moment, the Dementor closest to him was illuminated as if floodlit, the arc of lightning tearing through the air and sending it reeling, the _boom_ of the spell rattling his teeth down to the roots. The others nearby paused and turned, as if they were watching their counterpart fleeing.

Then the hooded figures turned towards him.

 _That's it, let them go, follow me._

Pulling the handle of the broom hard about, he flew towards the middle of the pitch, the Dementors gliding over the crowd in pursuit. As he flew, a white light shot out of the stands opposite towards him – a **_Patronus_** , in the form of a Phoenix – and barrelled into the Dementors chasing him, driving them into the air and back out over the grounds. The biting cold receded, and the press of unpleasant memories forcing their way into his mind vanished. It was over, for now.

* * *

Sirius smiled gently at him when he emerged into the Shrieking Shack's basement that evening, until he saw the look on his face.

"Harry, what-"

Harry shook his head angrily in response. For a moment, he stood in silence, staring at a spot on the wall past Sirius' head. When he spoke, it was quiet and filled with barely-restrained rage, coming out strangled and furious.

"What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing there today?" he hissed, Sirius' face colouring slightly at the anger in his tone.

"I-"

"I gave _explicit_ instructions," Harry stated, his voice rising to a shout, as he met his godfather's eyes, " _not_ to leave this building unless I came to get you. Do you have even the slightest _idea_ how much you put at risk?"

"Harry, relax, will you!" Sirius countered, his own voice growing sharp as Harry walked towards him.

" _Shut up!_ " Harry bellowed. "I don't care what reason you think excuses what you did today, Sirius. You put yourself in danger of being caught just by being in that crowd. Did you think I wouldn't recognise you? What if someone else had – Professor Lupin, maybe? Did the thought even cross your mind, or did you seriously weigh it up and go anyway because you were _bored?_ "

Sirius' brow narrowed, and his eyes turned hard as he stared back at Harry. "You listen to me, I did _not_ escape Azkaban just so that I could spend my freedom locked up in a different cell! I was in there for _twelve years_ , Harry, so forgive me if I'm not _obedient_ enough for you – a bloody thirteen-year-old, at that!" He took a few steps of his own, until the two were almost nose-to-nose, his grey eyes alight with mad energy.

"I can't stay here forever. It's been almost a week now, Harry, and you still haven't gotten Wormtail like we agreed. I thought you wanted him to face justice, so tell me, are you just lazy or are you getting cold feet? Should I be worried about Dementors breaking in the door when I'm asleep!?"

His voice had risen to a roar of its own, and the silence that followed was so thick that it could almost be cut with a knife. A few moments after he'd finished speaking, Sirius seemed to realise what he'd said and his expression shifted from one of argumentativeness to horror.

"Harry, I-"

But Harry was already gone, storming down the stairs and into the tunnel. Sirius stared after him for a moment, his face closed off and withdrawn before he walked over to a dusty armchair, settling down tiredly and brooding in silence.

* * *

The fiasco at the Quidditch match was plastered over the front page of the Sunday _Prophet_ , the reporters – notably Rita Skeeter, of course – lambasting Fudge, Dumbledore and the Ministry at large for the handling of the manhunt for Sirius. Although Gryffindor had won the game (much to Malfoy's consternation and vocal objections), the joyous energy that had gripped the castle the previous morning had disappeared as if it had been on the receiving end of an **_Evanesco_** Charm. Despite the Headmaster's assurances that the Dementors would not again trespass onto the grounds, students began walking around in tight-knit groups, alert and watchful of every corner and alcove in case they held some new danger.

Harry had attracted no small amount of attention from the rest of the students for his stunt during the game, but was unpleasantly surprised when he found himself summoned to Dumbledore's Office that evening after dinner – putting his plans to steal the Map from Fred and George on hold until tomorrow.

"Ah, come in!" Dumbledore called out from behind the door barely a moment after Harry knocked on it.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Harry asked, wandering into the Headmaster's Office.

"Yes, have a seat, please." The Headmaster gestured to one of the chairs opposite his desk. Harry did so, and Dumbledore considered him for a moment before continuing.

"That was a very brave thing you did yesterday, Harry. Headstrong, perhaps, but brave all the same," he said with a twitch of a smile. Fawkes crooned a warm note from his perch, and Harry felt himself smile almost reflexively at the Phoenix's song.

"Why were they allowed anywhere near the castle?" Harry asked. "Don't they have handlers from the Ministry?"

"They do indeed," the Headmaster replied, "but it appears that they've been growing hungry in the absence of victims on which to feed. I have always protested the use of Dementors by the Ministry, even more so when Cornelius recommended that they be used for the school's protection, because I feared this very eventuality.

"I thank you, Harry, for being brave – and bold – enough to leap to the defence of your schoolmates."

 _It wasn't just for them,_ a voice whispered, as Sirius' face appeared in his mind for a second.

"I couldn't stop them, though, sir," Harry replied, remembering the total failure of his attempt to cast a **_Patronus_**.

"True heroism isn't measured solely by its success rate," Dumbledore responded sagely. "It's immaterial whether you managed to stop or drive the Dementors away, my boy. You drew their attention onto you, and placed yourself in harm's way to help others."

Dumbledore's praise would've felt better to receive had it not served to remind him of how many secrets he was keeping from the old man. Instead, Harry schooled his expression into one of gratitude, his tone neutral.

"Thank you, sir."

* * *

He crept silently across the dormitory towards Fred and George's beds, covered by the Invisibility Cloak. Their trunks lay at the foot of each bed, and he had no idea which one held the Map. Pulling his wand from his robe pocket, he pointed it at the trunk on his left and cast a silent **_Alohomora_**.

As he expected, the trunk didn't even budge. Evidently Fred and George had enchanted them, protecting them against magical means of theft. Swapping his wand for a set of lock picks he'd managed to find in his wanderings through muggle London, he crouched down and began carefully trying to open the lock.

It was slow going – as even with the Silencing Charms he couldn't risk disturbing the scene – but after around five minutes of trying, the lock sprung open with a _click_ , followed immediately by successive _clicks_ from the other latches. Gently, he lifted the lid, draping the cloak over both himself and the trunk and vanishing out of sight.

He was thankful that he was still small enough at thirteen to find extra space under the cloak – by the time he'd finished school in the original timeline it could barely fit one person under it. The trunk was packed haphazardly, with weathered books, worn clothes and a surprising collection of oddities – including some dark glass jars that likely held stolen potions ingredients.

" ** _Specialis Revelio_** ," he whispered, having to use a vocalisation to force more power into the Detection Charm. Sure enough, his wand vibrated gently in his hand as he gestured over the trunk with it, signifying that some of the contents held active magic. He bit back a curse as he considered the disorganised contents of the trunk. Some of the magic, knowing Fred and George, would likely be joke spells or hexes, perhaps even an inventive booby trap or two. As a result, there was little chance he could safely disturb the contents without consequence, or reorganise them back to how they looked before he'd opened the trunk.

Someone across the room yawned loudly and shuffled in their bed.

 _Can't stay here. Nothing else for it._

" ** _Accio Marauder's Map!_** " he hissed through his teeth, his heart beating fast and shallow in his chest.

To his surprise and sudden relief, something rustled in the bottom of the trunk before shooting out into his outstretched hand. Despite being disguised as a piece of parchment, he knew he recognised it immediately. Then he turned his eyes back to the trunk, just in time to watch a stack of socks teeter and fall with a gentle _thump_.

Right onto a Dungbomb.

With a _bang_ like a firecracker, the room filled noxious yellowish smoke that smelled so bad Harry fought back a gag. Fred and George – and the rest of the room's occupants – woke suddenly, swearing and choking.

Dropping the trunk lid shut and hoping that the lock _clicked_ back into place, he darted across the room, avoiding one of the other fifth-years as they stumbled out of bed.

Slipping out of the door, he hurtled down to the third-year dormitory and nearly threw himself into his bed and under the covers, the map clutched tightly against his chest as he fought to get his breathing back under control.

The commotion in the fifth-year dormitories woke several other students, and before long most of Gryffindor House were crowded in the Common Room, half-asleep and furious. When a very irate McGonagall was summoned, it was quickly assumed that the whole thing was one of Fred and George's pranks gone off at the wrong time, and they did little to dispel the notion, despite ending up in detention for the next week and a half for causing such a ruckus late at night.

As Harry headed back to bed with the rest of his dorm-mates, however, he saw the sharp gazes the twins levelled over the rest of the Gryffindors, and his stomach squirmed uncomfortably.

 _They know it's gone. They know it was one of us._

There was little that could shake his resolve, though, as he looked at the Map once everyone was back to sleep and, sure enough, spotted _Peter Pettigrew_ written in flowing ink in the third-year dormitory.

The trap was ready to be sprung.


End file.
